8  6  5  E 


o 


Peter  read  the  love  letter  penned  by  his  wife  to  another 

Tnan. 


THE  EVOLUTION 
OF 

PETER  MOORE 


BY 
DALE  DRUMMOND 

Author  of 
"A  MAN  AND  A  WOMAN" 


TKT 


NEW  YORK 
BRITTON   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1919,  BY 
BRITTON  PUBLISHING  CO.,  INC. 

MADE   IN    U.    S.   A. 

All  Rights  Reserved 


THE   EVOLUTION 
OF  PETER  MOORE 


CHAPTER  I 

To  anyone  who  knew  Peter  Moore  casually  it  would 
have  seemed  a  far  stretch  of  the  imagination  to  connect 
him  in  any  possible  degree  with  the  bright  lights  and 
Lobster  Palaces  of  the  Great  White  Way.  That  his 
love  story,  as  well  as  his  war  story,  should  have  such  a 
setting,  as  only  New  York,  with  its  cabarets,  its  Lounge 
Lizards  and  its  Broadway  can  give,  was  almost  laugh- 
ingly incongruous.  That  all  these  things,  as  well  as 
many  others,  went  into  the  make-up  of  his  strangely 
complicated  married  life,  and  stalked  boldly  through 
it,  is  almost  incredible. 

It  is  equally  hard  to  understand  his  marriage  to  the 
small-town  girl  who  was  willing  not  only  to  barter  her 
very  soul  for  pleasure,  but  Peter's  soul  as  well,  and 
who  for  the  sake  of  the  flesh  pots  repudiated  the  man 
whom  she  had  set  out  to  win. 

'  Of  course  Peter  Moore  had  his  fling  at  the  great  world 
war  but  in  no  sense  are  his  experiences  in  No  Man 's  Land 
to  become  the  theme  of  this  story.  Rather  it  is  the  soul 

7 

2135178 


quality  of  the  man  that  stands  out  for  chief  consider- 
ation. 

On  a  certain  night  we  find  him  doing  sentry  duty 
on  new  ground  just  won.  The  clouds  had  poured  forth 
an  incessant  stream  of  tears  since  early  morning  and 
even  now  were  oozing  a  cold  mist,  if  anything,  more 
uncomfortable  than  the  rain  itself.  The  ground  was 
soft  with  mud — the  fighting  had  been  fierce.  From  all 
sides  feet  and  hands  and  faces  stuck  out.  As  he  paced 
back  and  forth  he  crouched  low,  mindful  of  the  ping  of 
bullets.  Now  and  again  he  quickly  stepped  aside,  hav- 
ing almost  stumbled  over  a  protruding  arm  or  leg — 
whether  of  friend  or  foe  he  could  not  tell.  The  mud 
and  blood  sucked  in  at  his  boots  with  every  step — and 
this  was  the  only  sound. 

Yet  as  Peter  Moore  carefully  shielded  his  flashlight 
to  look  at  the  watch  at  his  wrist,  his  face  did  not  reflect 
the  misery  of  his  surroundings.  Far  from  it!  There 
was  an  exalted  look  in  his  steady  gray  eyes ;  a  half  teif 
der  smile  on  his  lips.  Very  carefully  he  pulled  some- 
thing from  his  water-soaked  pocket  and,  aided  by  an- 
other flash  of  the  light,  he  looked  at  the  object  just  for 
a  second.  Then,  replacing  it,  he  resumed  his  endless 
pacing  back  and  forth. 

Peter  was  young — just  twenty-two.  But  he  had  no 
thought  of  discomfort,  no  feeling  of  horror  when  com- 
pelled to  step  over  the  gruesome  objects  strewed  about 
him.  Was  he  not  a  soldier?  Was  he  not  doing  his 
duty  ?  His  duty  to  his  country,  and  to  humanity  ? 

Peter  Moore  was  a  thoroughgoing  American.  And  back 
in  America  was  the  girl  whose  pictured  face  had  brought 
the  tender  smile  to  his  lips;  the  love  light  to  his  eyes. 

8 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

In  the  mid-western  town  of  Haynesville  the  citizens 
had  been  slow  to  understand  that  the  French  and  the 
British  were  really  at  war  with  Germany.  The  con- 
ception of  a  war  which  involved  the  entire  manhood  of 
these  nations,  that  threatened  their  very  existence,  had 
not  yet  penetrated  their  understanding.  Of  course,  they 
read  the  papers,  but  always  they  spoke  hopefully  of  the 
quick  ending  of  the  war;  that  in  the  very  nature  of 
things  it  could  not  last.  And  this  they  believed. 

But  one  day  the  entire  town  stood  up,  electrified. 
One  of  their  own  boys,  a  Haynesville  boy,  had  volun- 
teered. It  was  Peter  Moore  who  was  going  away  to 
Canada  to  learn  how  to  fight — "Old  John  Moore's" 
only  son. 

The  townspeople  were  breathless  at  first.  The  thing 
was  monstrous.  It  furnished  a  precedent  other  boys 
might  follow.  Then  excitement  became  rampant,  as  the 
discussion  waxed  hot. 

"It's  Peter's  duty  to  stay  home  and  take  charge  of 
the  factory  for  John,"  many  said,  while  others  claimed 
that  it  would  break  his  mother's  heart  if  he  went  to 
war.  It  was  his  duty  to  stay  at  home  with  her.  That 
Peter  himself  had  known  in  a  flash  of  patriotism,  a 
thrill  of  inspiration,  what  his  duty  was,  they  had  not 
the  faintest  understanding  of.  It  was  just  a  whim. 
Peter  had  always  been  a  good  quiet  boy.  A  good  son, 
too.  Why  should  he  go  against  them  all  now? 

"There  ain't  goin'  to  be  no  war!  not  to  amount  to 
nothin',"  Martin  Gormley  declared  as  he  sat  on  the 
edge  of  a  cracker  barrel,  and  aimed  for  the  cuspidor 
several  feet  away.  "Leastways,  we  ain't  goin'  to  have 

9 


no  war.     Why  Peter  wants  to  help  them  Canucks  is 
more'n  I  kin  make  out." 

"You  know  Peter  says  we  will  be  in  the  war  soon. 
That  we  will  have  to  join  the  French  and  the  British. 
He  may  be  right,"  the  preacher  said  quietly.  He  had 
dropped  into  the  grocery  for  his  mail,  Uncle  Sam  having 
leased  part  of  the  store  for  that  purpose. 

"Nonsense!  the  boy's  crazy,"  Lemuel  Griggs,  a  pros- 
perous farmer,  spoke  emphatically. 

"I  ain't  so  sure,"  Old  Thomas  Martin  said  slowly. 
He  had  won  his  stripes  in  the  Civil  War,  and  since  the 
newspapers  had  told  them  of  the  fighting  going  on  in 
Europe  he  had  resurrected  an  old  uniform.  "I  ain't 
so  sure  the  States  won't  get  in  it  before  they  are 
through.  Uncle  Sam  is  a  good  deal  like  a  married  man- 
he '11  stand  a  heap,  and  he'll  keep  still  for  a  long  time; 
but  when  he  does  turn  he  means  business.  I  only  wish 
I  was  young  like  Peter ;  I  'd  go,  too. ' '  He  looked  at  his 
empty  coat  sleeve,  the  sleeve  that  had  hung  limp  for 
more  than  fifty  years.  He  was  grizzled  and  gray,  but 
his  spirit  was  young.  The  spirit  of  the  born  fighting 
man  who  fights  for  right  and  justice. 

Peter's  father  was  greatly  distressed.  "I  can't  see 
why  it  is  necessary,  Peter,"  said  he.  "You  were  just 
getting  where  you  would  be  useful  at  the  factory.  It'll 
be  hard  to  have  you  go.  If  the  States  were  in  the  war, 
it  would  be  different.  But  why  you  want  to  go  off  to 
Canada  and  learn  soldiering  is  beyond  me." 

"The  States  will  be  in  before  long,  father,"  Peter 
replied.  "I  want  to  be  ready  to  help — to  be  of  some 
use." 

10 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"I'm  proud  of  you,  Peter,"  said  his  mother,  when 
they  were  alone  together.  "But  I  pray  God  you  are 
not  right  about  our  going  to  war ;  and  I  pray  you  won 't 
be  needed  by  the  British." 

One  had  only  to  see  Peter  and  his  mother  together  to 
know  from  what  source  he  had  imbibed  his  ideals,  his 
view  of  life. 

But  to  one  and  all  he  gave  the  same  reply : 

"I  must  go!" 

It  was  strange  how  that  simple  word  "must"  seemed 
to  be  in  his  mind.  There  was  nothing  equivocal  in  his 
answers  to  all  the  objections  offered.  They  were  terse 
and  to  the  point.  His  companions,  the  boys  and  girls 
of  the  village,  were  thrilled  that  one  of  them  had  proved 
himself  so  brave,  so  courageous.  He  didn't  have  to  go. 
He  was  going  because  he  knew  it  was  right ! 

But  not  yet  would  John  Moore  give  up.  Many  times 
he  argued  with  Peter. 

"If  it  was  the  United  States,  my  boy,  I  wouldn't  say 
a  word,"  he  complained.  "But  the  other  nations  ain't 
got  any  claim  on  you." 

' '  We  '11  be  in  it,  dad !  we  've  got  to  be ! "  was  his  only 
answer  when  his  father  urged  him  to  wait.  "And,  dad, 
when  the  time  comes  there  will  be  enough  untrained 
men.  I  want  to  be  all  ready  when  America  goes  in. 
Ready  to  be  of  some  use;  not  be  just  a  green  factory 
boy  with  everything  to  learn.  Don't  you  see,  dad?  I 
must  go!" 

"But,  Peter,  why  not  wait  a  little?  Things  over 
there  may  take  a  turn  at  any  time." 

"Dad,  they  won't  take  a  turn  until  we  are  all  fight- 

11 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

ing.  Every  mother's  son  of  us.  French,  British, 
American,  and  the  Lord  only  knows  what  other  nations. ' ' 

"How  do  you  know,  Peter?"  John  Moore  asked.  He 
loved  this  big,  visionary  son  of  his.  He  was  willing  to 
argue,  to  hear  him. 

"I  feel  it  here."  Peter  laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 
' '  I  see  it  in  my  dreams ;  I  know  it  will  come  true ;  and 
before  very  long." 

Mr.  Moore  sighed.  Not  yet  was  he  ready  to  acknowl- 
edge defeat. 

"But,  son,  to  go  to  Canada  to  enlist!  Aren't  there 
enough  British  without  you,  an  American  boy,  enlist- 
ing with  them?  Wait  until  your  own  country  calls. 
Then  I  won't  say  one  word.  But,  Peter,  my  boy,  I  am 
positive  that  there  is  a  lot  of  Englishmen,  Scotchmen 
and  other  British  subjects  in  this  country  who  haven't 
felt  any  call  to  fight.  Why  should  you?" 

"If  that's  so,  it  is  all  the  more  reason  why  I  should 
go,  dad." 

Nothing  his  father  could  say,  though  he  argued  often 
and  late,  would  change  Peter's  mind. 

Peter  went  to  a  camp  in  Canada  to  be  made  into  a 
soldier.  For  though  Peter  had  a  soldier's  spirit,  he 
knew  very  little  about  the  business  of  soldiering.  It 
would  be  impossible  for  him  to  visit  home  often,  even 
though  he  had  leave;  it  was  an  expensive  trip.  He 
could  not  help  his  father  in  the  factory,  so  whatever 
money  he  could  save  must  be  sent  home  to  repay  him  in 
part  for  the  loss  of  his  services. 

But  at  the  end  of  three  months  the  homesickness  be- 
came unbearable,  and  Peter  did  come  home.  If  he  had 

12 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

been  tall  and  straight  before,  he  seemed  taller  and 
straighter  now,  and  his  bronzed  face  had  taken  on  a 
more  manly,  more  resolute  look.  As  Bertha  had  imag- 
ined, a  uniform  was  vastly  becoming  to  Peter.  What 
if  he  were  only  a  common  soldier.  He  might  some  day 
— her  thoughts  always  stopped  there  and  took  a  more 
personal  turn. 

The  men  and  boys  of  the  town  treated  Peter  with  a 
new  deference.  They  no  longer  nodded  a  greeting,  but 
stopped  and  shook  hands  with  the  strapping  young 
soldier  whom  they  had  known  since  he  was  a  wee  toddler 
in  knickerbockers  and  curls.  His  father  said  no  more 
about  the  factory,  but  walked  proudly  by  his  side  down 
the  main  street  talking  with  him  as  one  man  to  another. 
His  mother — well,  Peter  and  his  mother  had  many  long, 
serious  talks  during  those  few  days  spent  at  home; 
talks  he  never  would  forget.  Her  soul  braved  the  sepa- 
ration with  the  same  courage  as  his  looked  forward  to  the 
inevitable  combat. 

Some  of  them  told  Peter  what  they  thought  in  ex- 
travagant terms.  Only  Bertha  Hunter,  the  grocer's 
daughter,  said  nothing.  She  looked  proud  and  happy 
when  Peter  walked  with  her,  or  escorted  her  home  from 
church.  She  wondered  how  he  would  look  in  a  uniform. 
Peter  was  tall  and  very  straight.  He  should  look  well — 
better  than  any  of  the  town  boys. 

Bertha  and  Peter  had  known  each  other  always.  They 
lived  on  the  same  street,  had  gone  to  the  same  school, 
graduated  in  the  same  class.  They  attended  the  same 
church  and  Sunday  school. 

Bertha  was  a  pretty  girl — that  is,  she  had  a  certain 

13 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

weak  prettiness.  An  oval  face,  big  blue  eyes  and  an 
indeterminate  chin;  one  thought  that  chin  indexed  her 
character.  Yet  Bertha  usually  managed  to  get  what  she 
wanted.  She  had  little  wheedling  ways.  Once  she  made 
up  her  mind  she  never  gave  up  until  she  had  what  she 
desired. 

"Her  mother  spoils  her,"  some  of  the  townspeople 
grumbled. 

"It's  her  father's  fault.  He  is  a  poor,  hard-working 
man.  He  should  be  more  strict  with  her.  That's  the 
trouble  with  people  who  have  only  one  child."  Bertha, 
like  Peter,  was  an  only  child. 

But  Bertha  went  on/  her  way,  untroubled.  She  was 
selfish.  Much  more  selfish  than  even  her  poor,  hard- 
working father  and  mother  realized.  She  was  their 
only  child,  however.  They  loved  her  passionately  each 
in  his  own  way. 

Bertha  took  all  they  did  for  her  as  her  right. 

Peter  never  had  singled  Bertha  Hunter  out  for  any 
especial  attention.  He  had  occasionally  taken  her  to  a 
picnic,  a  house  party  or  a  church  social;  but  so  had  he 
the  other  girls.  As  I  said  before,  Bertha  Hunter  usually 
managed  to  get  what  she  wanted.  After  Peter  came 
home  and  she  saw  him  in  his  uniform,  bronzed,  serious, 
manly,  a  look  of  determination  and  positive  intent  woke 
in  her  blue  eyes.  Bertha  had  made  up  her  mind  that 
she  wanted  Peter  Moore. 

But  Peter's  furlough  was  short.  He  spent  most  of  it 
at  home  with  his  mother,  or  at  the  factory  with  his 
father.  Only  once  did  Bertha  see  him  alone,  and  then, 

14 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

do  what  she  would,  she  could  not  inject  a  personal  note 
into  the  conversation.  Peter  was  all  enthusiasm  over 
his  camp  work,  over  the  possibility  of  soon  being  sent  to 
France. 

He  talked  to  Bertha  of  his  tentmates,  his  duties,  his 
amusements  in  the  big  Canadian  camp.  He  told  her 
also  of  his  good  times  in  New  York  on  his  way  back 
home.  How  the  boys,  in  groups  of  two  or  three — those 
who,  like  himself,  were  on  leave — would  visit  all  the 
places  of  interest. 

' '  It  is  some  town,  Bertha ;  lots  of  the  fellows  go  around 
with  their  girls — those  who  have  girls  in  New  York — 
the  remainder  of  us  flock  by  ourselves,"  he  finished, 
carelessly,  as  if  it  made  no  particle  of  difference  to  him. 

"Lots  of  the  fellows  go  around  with  their  girls." 
That  sentence  lodged  in  Bertha's  mind. 

Only  to  his  mother,  however,  did  Peter  talk  of  his 
camp  life  as  it  really  affected  him.  He  kept  nothing 
from  her. 

After  Peter  went  back  to  camp  Bertha  thought  of  him 
constantly.  He  had  no  girl  to  go  around  with — yet. 
And  there  was  a  sort  of  halo  around  Peter  Moore,  espe- 
cially in  the  mind  of  Bertha  Hunter.  He  had  been  the 
first  boy  in  Haynesville  to  enlist,  and  he  was  the  best- 
looking  soldier  she  ever  had  seen. 

What  joy  it  would  be  to  see  New  York,  hanging  on  to 
Peter's  arm.  Bertha  always  had  wanted  to  see  the  big 
town.  She  read  the  Sunday  papers — the  advertisements 
and  the  society  columns  principally.  What  if  she  did 
not  know  the  people  talked  about,  by  constant  repeti- 
tion their  names  had  become  familiar  to  her.  She  also 

15 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

copied  the  styles  of  the  colored  fashion  page.  Copied 
them  well,  for  Bertha  had  one  accomplishment.  She 
was  clever  with  her  needle,  and,  although  she  had  little 
money  to  spend,  she  managed  to  make  a  good  appear- 
ance. 

Now  each  Sunday  the  papers  had  entire  pages  devoted 
to  pictures  of  the  soldiers  in  camp,  on  the  march  and  in 
New  York.  Many  of  the  latter  taken  in  groups,  some 
with  girls,  who  looked  smiling  and  happy.  Bertha 
looked  long  and  often  at  the  pictures  of  the  soldiers 
taken  with  their  "girls"  beside  them.  And  every  time 
she  looked,  her  desire  grew  to  get  near  the  camp  where 
Peter  was  stationed.  But  how?  She  couldn't  go  to 
Canada. 

Suddenly  she  knew.  Peter  passed  through  New  York. 
Sometimes  he  stayed  over  for  two  or  three  days.  She 
could  see  him  there. 

"Ma,  I'm  going  to  New  York  if  father  will  let  me," 
she  said  as  they  did  the  dinner  dishes.  Mrs.  Hunter 
always  washed  them  so  that  Bertha  wouldn't  spoil  her 
hands,  Bertha  drying  and  putting  them  away. 

"To  New  York!  What  do  you  want  to  go  to  New 
York  for?" 

"I  ain't  never  been  anywhere,  Ma.  Aunt  Martha  has 
asked  me  to  come  and  visit  her,  but  you  wouldn  't  let  me 
go.  Please  tease  Pa  to  let  me  go  now." 

"But  that  was  five  years  ago  that  Martha  asked  you." 
Martha  was  Mr.  Hunter's  sister.  "She  might  not  want 
you  now." 

"I'll  write  and  ask  her.  If  she  says  'yes'  will  you  get 
father  to  let  me  go?" 

16 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"I'll  try."    With  that  Bertha  had  to  be  content. 

Aunt  Martha  answered  Bertha's  letter  at  once. 

"Come  right  along,"  she  wrote.  "It  won't  be  very 
lively  for  you.  I  have  the  rheumatism  a  good  deal  late 
years.  But  I'll  be  glad  to  see  Henry's  girl.  Come  with 
your  mind  made  up  to  stay  as  long  as  your  mother  can 
spare  you." 

What  more  pressing  invitation  could  a  girl  desire  f 
Now  to  get  her  father's  consent. 

"It  won't  be  easy  to  get  him  to  give  you  the  money, 
Bertha,"  her  mother  said  as  they  talked  it  over.  "Busi- 
ness ain't  what  it  was  before  this  war  scare,  and  you 
know  it  never  ain't  been  any  too  good.  But  I'll  do  the 
best  I  can  for  you.  You  ain't  never  been  anywhere 
much.  I've  got  a  little  chicken  money  saved  up,  you 
can  have  that." 

Mrs.  Hunter  had  saved  that  chicken  money  for  a 
much-needed  dress  for  herself.  But  Bertha  was  her 
only  child.  Mr.  Hunter  had  two  to  combat  if  he  did  not 
want  to  do  whatever  Bertha  asked  him;  Mrs.  Hunter 
always  sided  with  her  daughter. 

"Bertha  had  a  letter  from  your  sister  Martha  to- 
day," Mrs.  Hunter  remarked  after  Henry  was  partly 
through  an  exceptionally  good  dinner.  Mrs.  Hunter, 
like  other  wives,  knew  her  husband's  weakness  for  cer- 
tain things  and  this  night  she  had  catered  to  that  weak- 
ness. Lamb  stew  with  dumplings  and  strawberry  short- 
cake made  up  the  dinner  menu. 

"What  did  Martha  have  to  say?"  his  mouth  full  of 
hot  dumpling. 

"She  wants  Bertha  to  come  to  New  York  and  make 

17 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

her  a  visit.  She  wants  her  to  stay  as  long  as  we  can 
spare  her." 

"We  all  want  a  lot  of  things  we  don't  get." 

"But,  Henry,  Bertha  never  has  been  anywhere,  and 
— go  into  the  kitchen  Bertha  and  get  your  father  some 
more  hot  stew,"  she  interrupted  herself  to  say,  at  the 
same  time  giving  her  daughter  a  knowing  look;  which 
Bertha  wisely  translated  as  being  an  order  to  take  her 
time  getting  the  stew  so  her  mother  could  talk  to  her 
father.  "Now,  Henry,"  she  commenced  again,  "Bertha 
has  always  been  a  good  girl.  She  ain't  never  given  us 
any  trouble.  It  won't  cost  much  to  let  her  go  and  see 
New  York.  She  has  wanted  to  for  years.  You  know 
how  she  reads  them  Sunday  papers  till  they  are  in 
rags." 

"Will  she  have  to  have  any  clothes?" 

"No '       Mrs.    Hunter   thought    of   the    chicken 

money.  That  would  buy  Bertha  the  few  things  abso- 
lutely necessary  after  she  got  to  New  York.  "She'll  get 
along.  You  know  how  smart  she  is  about  fixin'  herself 
up." 

"Well — 111  think  it  over,"  he  returned  just  as 
Bertha  appeared  with  the  stew. 

The  girl  looked  surreptitiously  at  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Hunter  nodded  ever  so  slightly. 

"So  you  want  to  go  to  New  York,  do  you?"  Mr. 
Hunter  asked  as  Bertha  for  the  second  time  heaped  his 
plate  with  shortcake. 

"Yes,  father.  Please  let  me  go!  I  ain't  never  been 
anywhere  out  of  Haynesville  only  over  to  Centerport 
to  the  circus,  and  I  am  most  nineteen  years  old." 

18 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"I  suppose  you  think  you'll  catch,  one  of  them  New 
York  chaps,"  her  father  joked  heavily  as  he  lighted  his 
pipe. 

Bertha  knew  her  point  was  as  good  as  won.  Her 
father  never  attempted  a  joke  unless  he  was  in  good 
humor.  The  stew  and  shortcake  were  getting  in  their 
work.  She  clapped  her  hands  with  glee  as  she  threw 
her  arms  around  his  neck  in  what  he  called  a  "bear 
hug." 

"I  may  go,  father,  mayn't  I?  Please  say  yes,  please 
do!" 

"Well — yes.  That  is  if  your  mother  can  manage 
without  you.  But  you  mustn't  ask  me  for  any  money 
for  clothes.  I'll  give  you  fifty  dollars.  That's  every 
cent  I  can  spare — more'n  I  ought  to." 

"Oh,  thank  you,  father!  that  will  be  enough.  I'll 
make  it  do!" 

Busy  days  and  almost  sleepless  nights  followed  her 
father's  consent  to  the  visit.  Should  she  write  Peter, 
or  should  she  wait  until  she  reached  her  aunt's  and  let 
him  know  she  was  in  New  York?  She  worried  for  days 
over  the  course  she  should  take  in  this,  then  decided  to 
wait. 

Her  father  had  refused  to  give  her  any  money  for 
new  clothes,  but  what  she  had  must  be  put  in  order. 
She  no  longer  even  dried  the  dishes  for  her  mother,  but 
turned  and  twisted  and  dyed  her  clothes  until  she  could 
do  nothing  more  to  improve  her  wardrobe.  The  chicken 
money  would  be  spent  for  new  things ;  stylish  New  York 
clothes  such  as  she  saw  in  the  Sunday  papers.  So  she 
told  her  mother. 

19 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Peter's  name  had  not  been  mentioned.  If  Mrs.  Hunter 
had  any  idea  that  Bertha  had  any  other  motive  in 
wanting  to  go  to  New  York  save  just  the  lure  of  the  visit, 
she  never  mentioned  it.  But  Bertha's  thoughts  dwelt 
by  day  upon  the  sensation  she  would  make  walking  in 
Fifth  Avenue  with  Peter,  when  he  was  away  on  leave. 
It  wasn't  so  far  from  his  Canadian  camp.  Her  dreams 
by  night  were  colorful  for  the  same  reason.  Perhaps 
they  would  have  their  pictures  taken  and  they  would 
appear  in  the  Sunday  picture  supplement.  Haynesville 
would  then  sit  up  and  take  notice. 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

SETTLED  at  Aunt  Martha's,  Bertha's  first  task  was 
to  let  Peter  know  that  she  was  in  New  York.  She 
received  an  immediate  reply  to  her  carefully  worded 
note.  Peter  could  get  to  New  York  next  Saturday.  If 
she  would  meet  him  at  the  station,  it  would  save  time, 
and  they  would  spend  the  entire  day  seeing  the  sights. 

Bertha  looked  very  dainty,  very  attractive,  when 
Peter  spied  her  waiting  for  him  in  the  big  station  filled 
with  boys  in  uniform  on  their  day's  leave.  He  saw  the 
envious  looks  of  his  mates  as  he  greeted  her;  and  it 
tinged  the  ardor  of  his  greeting. 

And  Bertha!  she  laughed  and  chatted  and  strutted 
proudly  along  by  the  side  of  her  soldier  escort.  Never 
had  she  been  so  proud,  so  happy.  When  Peter  stiffly 
saluted  an  officer  she  wanted  to  salute  also.  When  they 
passed  other  soldiers  with  girls  hanging'  on  to  their 
arms,  she  wished  Peter  would  offer  her  his  arm.  He 
would  later,  perhaps,  but  Bertha  didn't  like  to  wait,  and 
it  looked  so  much  more  intimate  than  walking  as  they 
did.  But  Peter  didn't  seem  to  think  of  it,  and  she  hesi- 
tated to  propose  it.  After  all,  she  and  Peter  had  never 
been  anything  but  just  friends.  Maybe  he — her  face 
flushed  at  the  thought  that  maybe  next  time  he  would 
offer  her  his  arm. 

21 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

They  visited  the  museum.  They  walked  in  the  park 
and  down  that  wonderful  Fifth  Avenue  of  which  Bertha 
had  read  and  dreamed.  They  stopped  and  looked  in  the 
shop  windows,  and  Bertha  held  her  breath  at  sight  of 
the  beautiful  stuffs,  the  laces  and  silks.  If  she  had 
those  lovely  materials,  how  charming  she  would  make 
herself  for  Peter!  She  compared  him  to  the  other  pri- 
vates they  met — of  course  she  never  dreamed  of  com- 
paring him  to  the  smart-looking  officers  they  passed,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  he  stood  apart;  that  he  was  of  a 
little  finer  clay  than  the  rest.  She  would  not  have  known 
how  to  explain  her  feelings  save  as  she  did  when  she  said 
to  her  Aunt  Martha : 

''Peter  looks  so  nice,  Aunt  Martha.  His  eyes  are  so 
clear,  he  looks  so  straight  at  you,  and  he  has  such  a  nice 
skin.  Some  of  the  soldiers  look  so  rough,  and  so  much 
commoner  than  him." 

About  one  o'clock  Peter  said: 

''Let's  go  eat,  Bertha.     I'm  hungry." 

Reluctantly  she  turned  away  from  a  beautifully 
dressed  window.  There  was  a  hat  on  display  she  was 
sure  she  could  copy. 

"Where  shall  we  go,  Peter?"  she  asked  as  they  re- 
sumed their  walk.  Now  she  was  all  a-thrill  at  the  idea 
of  having  lunch  with  her  soldier — as  she  called  Peter  in 
her  thoughts. 

"One  of  them  white-front  places,  Bertha.  The  grub 
is  all  right,  and  they  don't  stick  a  fellow  like  they  do  in 
some  places. ' ' 

It  was  all  new  and  wonderful  to  Bertha.  The  Ritz  or 
the  Holland  House  could  have  given  her  no  greater 

22 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

thrills.  The  place  was  crowded  and  noisy.  The  white- 
gowned  waitresses  darted  back  and  forth  with  what  to 
Bertha  was  incredible  quickness;  although  she  heard 
grumblings  over  slow  service  from  some  seated  near. 
There  were  many  boys  in  khaki,  some  accompanied  by 
girls,  many  alone.  Often  Bertha  caught  one  of  these 
latter  looking  in  their  direction.  Then  she  smiled  as  she 
saw  that  Peter,  too,  had  noticed  it,  and  that  he  was 
glaring  at  the  particularly  insistent  regard  of  one  fellow. 

''It's  nice  to  be  here,"  she  returned  softly.  Then 
they  both  paid  strict  attention  to  their  luncheon. 

The  size  of  the  check  made  Bertha  gasp.  It  was  her 
first  meal  in  a  public  place.  Peter  must  be  fond  of  her 
to  spend  his  money  like  that,  she  thought,  not  knowing 
that  the  same  meal  anywhere  else  would  have  been  three 
times  as  much. 

They  stood  in  the  street  hesitant. 

"How  would  you  like  to  take  a  bus  ride,  Bertha? 
We'll  get  on  top  of  one  of  them,  ride  way  up  as  far  as 
they  go  and  then  back  again.  After  that  we  might  go 
to  a  movie.  What  do  you  say?" 

"I'd  just  love  it,  Peter." 

"All  right!  then  it's  a  go." 

Ten  minutes  later  Bertha  and  Peter  were  seated  a-top 
of  a  Fifth  Avenue  bus.  The  seat  was  narrow  and 
Bertha  felt  happy  over  the  personal  contact  now  un- 
avoidable. 

"This  is  bully!"  Peter  said  as  they  started.  "It's 
nice  to  have  someone  from  home  to  talk  to." 

It  wasn't  just  what  Bertha  would  have  liked  him  to 
say,  but  she  smiled  and  agreed. 

23 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

The  bus  was  filled,  every  seat.  How  odd  it  seemed 
to  be  riding  along  the  street,  yet  so  far  above  it.  In 
front  of  Peter  and  Bertha  were  another  soldier  and  a 
very  pretty  girl.  The  soldier  had  his  arm  over  the  back 
of  the  seat;  and  every  few  minutes  it  would  slip  down 
and  he  would  press  the  young  girl  closer  to  him.  Bertha 
wished  Peter  would  put  his  arm  across  the  seat  like  that 
other  soldier  did;  but  Peter  was  too  busy  pointing  out 
the  things  that  interested  him  along  the  route.  His 
mind  was  filled  with  wonder  and  disgust  when  he  saw 
strapping  young  fellows  of  fighting  age  walking  calmly 
along  in  civilian  dress.  How  could  they  fail  to  realize 
that  our  time  was  coming ;  that  the  United  States  would 
soon  have  to  declare  herself? 

' '  We  could  lick  them  then  sure ! ' '  he  said  in  his  eager 
young  voice. 

"What — what  did  you  say,  Peter?"  Bertha  had 
been  so  engaged  watching  the  couple  in  front  of  them 
she  had  not  heard.  There  had  been  a  little  catch  in  her 
throat  as  she  noted  the  fellow's  devotion.  He  didn't  care 
whether  America  came  into  the  war  or  not.  Neither 
did  he  seem  to  care  who  won.  He  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  all  these  things,  he  was  too  much  occupied 
with  the  girl. 

"I  said  if  America  would  only  get  in  we  would  lick 
the  Germans  as  sure  as  shooting.  Gee!  I  can  hardly 
wait." 

"Of  course  you  will" — Bertha  answered  a  bit  ab- 
sently, "that  is,  if  the  British  and  French  soldiers  are 
all  like  you,  Peter."  She  accompanied  her  tactful 

24 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

remark    with    a    look    of    unadulterated    admiration. 

"You  see,  Bertha,  we  have  got  to  whip  them.  We 
must,"  Peter  explained,  yet  she  knew  that  in  spite  of 
his  earnestness,  her  little  speech  had  flattered  and  pleased 
him.  He  had  flushed  under  the  tan. 

They  wandered  into  a  moving  picture  house.  The 
picture  Bertha  thought  wonderful.  It  was  a  society 
drama  adapted  for  the  film.  The  beautiful  pictured 
rooms,  the  clothes  worn  by  both  men  and  women  were  a 
revelation  to  her.  But  it  didn't  interest  Peter  nearly 
as  much  as  did  the  pictures  of  camp  life,  of  the  soldiers 
drilling,  the  fighting  ' '  Somewhere  in  France, ' '  the  ruins 
of  Belgium.  Once  when  he  recognized  a  picture  of  his 
own  camp,  he  became  excited  at  viewing  the  familiar 
surroundings,  and  grasped  Bertha 's  arm.  She  wished  he 
would  leave  his  hand  there.  She  had  watched  a  husky 
Canadian  soldier  sitting  near  them,  just  as  she  had 
watched  that  other  soldier  a-top  of  the  bus.  She  saw 
he  was  frankly  holding  his  girl's  hand,  and  that  when 
the  house  darkened  his  arm  slipped  about  her  slender 
waist.  Some  way  she  felt  that  although  she  had  her 
soldier  she  was  being  cheated.  She  wanted  all  the  glory 
of  being  looked  upon  by  those  around  her  as  Peter's 
girl — a  soldier's  sweetheart. 

She  sighed,  then  was  very  quiet  as  more  pictures  of 
camp  and  army  life  were  thrown  upon  the  screen.  But 
Peter  talked  on  enthusiastically,  unaware  that  their 
spirits  did  not  meet ;  oblivious  that  Bertha  was  not  fully 
as  interested  as  he.  How  should  he  know  that  she  wanted 
him  to  hold  her  hand?  How  could  he  guess  the  jealous 
thoughts  which  filled  her  mind  as  she  watched  that  other 

25 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

couple?  Why  should  he  imagine  she  would  rather  he 
would  hold  her  hand  than  talk  to  her  about  the 
pictures  ? 

In  spite  of  her  resentment  Bertha  was  happy.  She 
was  in  New  York;  just  so  much  nearer  Peter's  camp  in 
Canada.  She  would  see  him  whenever  he  had  leave. 
She,  too,  would  have  a  soldier  to  go  around  with.  Aunt 
Martha  was  old,  her  rheumatism  was  very  bad.  She  had 
made  no  objection  to  Bertha  going  out  with  Peter 
when  she  had  learned  he  was  from  Haynesville.  "He 
couldn't  get  away  often,"  Bertha  explained. 

It  came  to  be  the  regularly  understood  thing  that  when 
Peter  could  get  leave  he  was  to  spend  it  with  Bertha  in 
New  York.  She  helped  her  aunt  between  times,  and 
made  over  her  clothes  that  she  might  be  more  attractive 
to  Peter  when  he  came.  She  had  spent  the  chicken 
money  carefully.  She  copied  a  hat  she  saw  in  a  smart 
shop  window,  and  bought  a  pair  of  light-topped  shoes. 
She  also  had  bought  some  white  gloves,  and  lastly  a 
military  cape,  which  Peter  admired  immensely,  and 
which  she  therefore  wore  whenever  she  was  with  him, 
regardless  of  the  weather. 

While  Peter's  mind  was  filled  to  overflowing  with 
his  new  responsibilities,  his  desire  to  perfect  himself  as  a 
soldier — he  had  determined  to  win  his  straps  as  quickly 
as  possible — he  was  not  entirely  unconscious  of  Bertha 's 
attractions. 

Gradually  his  attentions  had  seemed  to  take  on  a 
deeper  meaning.  Almost  unconsciously  he  had  begun 
to  give  Bertha  those  little  marks  of  liking  which  she 
craved,  and  to  which  she  attached  so  much  meaning. 

26 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Yet  Peter  at  times  seemed  still  very  remote.  His  interest 
all  centered  upon  the  war,  upon  all  that  counted  for  so 
little  in  Bertha's  mind.  She  was  proud  to  be  with  a 
soldier,  yet  she  was  strangely  indifferent  to  the  soldier's 
military  interest. 

As  Peter  walked  the  streets  and  noted  the  young  men 
in  citizens'  clothes  a  great  pity  came  into  his  eyes.  Did 
they  not  realize  what  they  were  missing?  Could  they 
not  understand  that  a  great  privilege  had  come  to  them, 
the  wonderful  chance  to  be  of  use  to  their  country? 
What  ailed  them?  He  watched  them  hurry  or  slouch 
along  the  streets,  and  wondered  if  they  had  any  red 
blood  in  their  veins.  How  could  they  hear  the  call  of 
country  and  not  answer?  It  had  seemed  to  him  that 
everything  in  him  had  tugged  at  his  vitals  until  he  had 
volunteered. 

He  often  went  into  the  recruiting  places.  Naturally 
a  quiet  sort,  he  frequently  forgot  himself  and  pleaded 
with  the  bystander  to  enlist  in  the  army,  successful 
occasionally,  failing  often.  When  he  failed,  when  the 
young  men  whom  he  approached  gave  thin  and  obvious 
excuses,  a  great  sadness  would  envelop  him.  On  such 
days  he  went  back  to  camp  without  thinking  of  Bertha. 
Often  he  forgot  to  ask  for  her  letter,  which  was  sent 
regularly. 

He  must  work.  He  must  do  double  duty,  he  decided, 
to  make  up  for  the  slackers. 

' '  Slackers ! ' '  How  Peter  hated  the  word.  How  could 
any  man  endure  to  go  round  under  the  slight  that  word 
carried  with  it  when  applied  to  himself? 

Peter  was  not  a  religious  youth.  Not  that  he  was 

27 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

irreligious,  either.  He  really  never  had  thought  much 
about  such  things. 

But  he  now  wondered  that  God  didn't  do  something 
terrible  to  those  men  who  hesitated  to  fight  for  their 
country.  He  had  the  childish  literalness  that  men  so 
often  get  into  their  faiths;  women  so  seldom.  Peter 
had  met  this  new  phase  of  his  life  with  awe,  with  love 
and  with  hate.  He  was  awed  by  the  great  task  before 
him,  passionately  in  love  with  the  cause  to  which  he  had 
given  himself,  and  filled  with  hate  for  the  enemy.  Not 
that  Peter  dissected  his  feelings  at  this  time  or  that  he 
actually  realized  their  force,  but  they  were  there,  deep 
down  in  his  soul. 

He  read  the  papers,  did  Peter.  But  he  had  no  very 
keen  understanding.  It  seemed  to  him  that  we  in 
America  muddled  things  a  good  deal ; — that  the  govern- 
ment did.  He  would  wrinkle  his  brows  and  puzzle  over 
it  a  bit.  Yet  he  never  for  a  single  moment  lost  his  faith 
that,  even  though  we  muddled  some  things,  we  would 
finally  muddle  through  all  right. 

He  had  a  conviction  that  America  was  invincible ;  and 
it  never  left  him.  He  didn't  speak  of  it  often.  But 
when  he  occasionally  talked  to  a  fellow  he  was  sure  to 
impress  his  listener.  Sometimes  Peter  heard  them  dub 
him  as  "queer."  One  day  a  fellow  said  "nuts"  and 
pointed  to  his  head;  then  winked  at  a  pal.  Peter  had 
quite  unconsciously  and  unintentionally  given  them  a 
peep  into  the  close  recesses  of  his  mind. 

Strangely  enough,  Peter  stopped  talking  of  the 
war  when  he  saw  Bertha.  Had  you  asked  him  why,  he 
would  have  disclaimed  any  idea  that  he  kept  quiet  be- 

28 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

cause  of  her;  he  would  also  have  denied  that  she  was 
unsympathetic.  He  just  didn't  feel  like  talking  to  her 
of  things  that  touched  him  deeply.  That  was  all. 

Peter  never  thought  that  America  might  fail  to  enter 
the  war.  That  would  be  little  less  than  treasonable.  No 
people  capable  of  ruling  themselves  as  Americans  had 
ruled  themselves  would  consent  to  be  ruled  by  German 
despots.  The  intense  patriotism  that  lurked  in  his  bosom 
rose  like  a  mighty  wave  and  swept  all  doubts  before  it. 

The  Hun,  his  kultur,  must  perish.  Democracy  must 
prevail.  That  was  Peter's  attitude.  There  were  no 
mays  or  mights  in  his  lexicon.  It  was  always  must  even 
though  every  man  laid  down  his  life  to  secure  that  end. 

Once,  and  once  only,  had  Peter  attempted  to  talk  o£ 
these  things  that  so  filled  his  heart  and  mind,  to  Bertha. 
But  she  was  so  unaffectedly  bored,  so  lacking  in  sympa- 
thetic understanding,  so  anxious  to  talk  of  other  things, 
that  he  soon  withdrew  into  himself  and  never  again 
attempted  to  make  her  understand  how  he  felt.  She 
was  just  a  girl,  anyway. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  New  York  men,,  the  civilians, 
made  absolutely  no  impression  upon  Bertha  at  this  time. 
It  was  no  fault  of  theirs,  either.  For  Bertha  was  very 
pretty  and  naturally  received  many  admiring  glances. 
Occasionally  a  bolder  spirit  than  the  rest  would  make 
unmistakable  advances  to  the  pretty  country  girl,  but 
to  no  effect. 

Now  when  Peter  came  to  New  York  and  Bertha  walked 
on  the  Avenue  with  him  she  hung  gracefully  upon  his 
arm.  No  longer  was  she  jealous  of  the  other  girls;  no 
longer  did  she  feel  she  was  being  cheated.  When  they 

29 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

rode  on  top  of  the  bus  in  the  long  summer  evenings 
Peter's  arm  found  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  sometimes 
it  dropped  down  to  her  waist  and  stayed  there.  Even 
in  the  movies  he  no  longer  gave  his  undivided  attention 
to  the  pictures,  but  his  hand  would  often  find  Bertha's, 
or  his  arm  would  drape  itself  across  the  back  of  the 
seat  when  the  house  was  darkened  and  draw  her  toward 
him  with  a  gentle  pressure. 

Yet  Peter  had  said  no  word  of  love  to  Bertha.  Some- 
times she  wondered  why,  but  mostly  she  was  content  to 
drift  happily  and  easily  along.  Then  one  day  he  woke 
her  from  her  content.  He  said  he  hoped  they  would  soon 
be  sent  "over  there," 


30 


CHAPTER  in 

BERTHA  had  written  her  father  and  had  his  permission 
to  remain  with  Aunt  Martha  until  Fall.  Peter  had 
hinted  more  than  once  that  he  thought  they  might  go 
almost  any  day.  He  always  finished  by  saying  that  he 
"hoped  they  would."  He  said  it,  too,  in  his  letters  to 
her.  Whenever  she  read  it  Bertha  almost  despaired. 
Every  day  she  read  the  list  of  marriages  in  the  papers. 
Only  those  of  the  soldiers  interested  her,  however.  She 
would  read  them  over  and  over,  and  think  how  proud 
those  girls  must  be.  Once  she  said  something  of  the  sort 
to  Peter.  He  made  no  reply,  but  what  she  said  remained 
with  him,  and  bothered  him. 

' '  When — you — like  a  person,  it  must  be  awful  to  have 
them  leave  you  unless  you  know  you  belong  to  them 
and  they  belong  to  you, ' '  she  had  said,  ostensibly  refer- 
ring to  a  marriage  of  which  she  had  just  read  an  account. 
"You  see,  lie  wouldn't  be  so  lonesome  thinking  his  wife 
is  waiting  for  him,  and  getting  her  letters,"  she  added, 
cannily,  showing  she  was  not  quite  as  innocent  of  design 
as  she  appeared. 

Peter  sensed  nothing  of  this.  His  mind,  as  well  as  his 
letters,  were  filled  with  a  soldier's  thoughts,  a  soldier's 
aspirations.  Yet  at  times  there  filtered  through  his  con- 
sciousness an  idea  of  Bertha's  sweetness:  an  idea  that 

31 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

he  would  like  her  for  his  own.  Yet  when  he  was  with 
her  he  said  nothing;  neither  did  he  mention  it  in  his 
letters.  He  was,  perhaps,  a  trifle  more  tender,  a  bit 
more  self-conscious  in  his  embraces  and  his  good-night 
kisses — only  lately  indulged  in — were  more  fervent,  his 
parting  more  prolonged. 

' '  If  he  only  came  of tener  I  believe  he  would, ' '  Bertha 
said  to  herself.  ' '  I  hate  to  go  back  to  Haynesville !  If 
I  was  his  wife  I  could  stay  in  New  York.  Father  would 
have  nothing  to  say  about  it."  Selfish  as  always,  un- 
thoughtful  of  the  father  and  mother  who  had  denied 
themselves  so  much,  for  her. 

Then  one  never-to-be-forgotten  day  the  summons  came. 
Peter  was  to  "go  over  there  to  help  the  British  carry 
on. "  So  he  wrote  her.  He  had  just  time  to  go  home  to 
Haynesville  and  bid  his  father  and  mother  good-bye. 
Also  he  would  be  able  to  stay  a  day  in  New  York  with 
her. 

Bertha  spent  the  next  few  days  in  such  an  agony  of 
longing  as  almost  unnerved  her.  She  had  so  little  time. 
Would  it  be  possible  to  do  anything?  But  she  had 
reckoned  without  taking  Peter's  youth,  his  young  blood 
into  consideration. 

He  was  very  quiet  when  he  came.  The  parting  with 
his  mother  had  been  hard. 

He  spoke  of  going.  Bertha  grew  pale,  then,  swept 
suddenly  by  her  emotions,  she  threw  herself,  sobbing 
unrestrainedly,  into  Peter's  arms. 

"I  can't  bear  it,  Peter!  I  can't  bear  it!"  her  arms 
clung  to  him,  drew  him  down  until  their  lips  met.  Her 
tears  were  hot  and  wet  on  his  cheeks. 

32 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 


Bertha!"  he  said,  his  voice  hoarse.  His 
temples  were  pounding  so  he  could  scarcely  think.  "It 
don't  seem  right,  Bertha,  but  would  you  —  do  you  —  shall 
we  get  married  ?  '  '  He  held  her  off  a  little,  that  he  might 
see  her  face. 

'  '  Oh,  Peter  !  I  do  love  you  !  '  '  and  once  more  her  arms 
crept  around  his  neck  ;  once  more  her  lips  found  his. 

"Bertha!"  Peter  said  again,  a  strange  awe  almost 
mastering  him.  '  '  I  guess  —  we  better  get  married.  Or  — 
would  you  rather  wait  until  I  come  back?"  He  saw 
refusal  in  her  eyes.  "Ill  go  tend  to  it,"  he  said,  sud- 
denly sobered,  himself  once  again.  The  tide  of  emotion 
that  had  swept  him  nearly  off  his  feet  had  passed.  He 
was  calm  once  more. 

Peter  found  that  he  was  late  for  the  license  bureau 
that  day,  so  he  went  back  to  Bertha.  He  would  try 
again  in  the  morning,  taking  her  with  him. 

They  spent  the  evening  quietly  together  in  Aunt 
Martha's  parlor. 

"It  don't  seem  just  right  to  marry  a  girl  then  leave 
her,"  Peter  said,  his  arm  around  Bertha. 

"But  you  say  you  have  to  go,  Peter.  And  I  shall 
be  happy  here.  You'll  be  careful  for  my  sake,  won't 
you,  dear?"  her  eyes  bright  and  dry. 

'  '  Of  course  I  will.  As  careful  as  I  can.  But  I  imagine 
I  shan't  be  thinking  much  about  myself."  He  kissed 
her  tenderly.  He  was  stirred  at  the  thought  that  she 
was  to  be  his  wife.  It  seemed  a  holy  relationship  as  he 
thought  of  his  mother.  Then,  he  reflected,  that  Bertha 
would  write  to  him,  and  that  would  help  him  to  be 
brave. 

33 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

That  night  he  left  early.  He  had  his  packing  to  do. 
Then  he  said,  "I  must  write  to  your  father.  I  want  to 
tell  him  just  how  it  happened,  that  we  didn't  know  until 
the  last  minute.  I  want  him  to  know,  too,  that  you  will 
have  part  of  my  pay.  All  I  can  spare.  It  won't  be 
much  now;  but  I  shan't  always  be  a  private."  That 
was  all  Peter  said  about  money.  The  ordinary  things 
of  life  seemed  not  to  worry  him. 

' '  I  can  earn  more  if  I  need  it, ' '  Bertha  replied. 

"You  mean  that  you  want  to  stay  here — in  New 
York?" 

"Yes.  I  shall  stay  with  Aunt  Martha  until  you  come 
back,"  she  said,  very  decidedly. 

Had  Peter  been  less  absorbed  he  must  have  wondered 
that  she  had  so  soon  planned  her  future,  and  without 
consulting  him.  But  his  mind  was  on  other  things. 
He  never  noticed.  Months  afterward  that  speech 
occurred  to  him. 

He  bade  her  good  night.  They  would  meet  in  the 
morning.  They  would  be  married  ;•  then,  in  a  few  hours 
at  most,  he  would  be  on  his  way  to  Canada,  and  then 
"over  there." 

Nearly  all  night  did  Peter  sit  up  writing.  His  letter 
to  his  mother  was  the  outpouring  of  his  boyish  soul- 
things  he  could  not  have  said,  even  to  her.  He  told  her 
of  his  hopes,  his  aspirations,  his  sure  belief  that  America 
would  soon  enter  the  war.  He  told  of  his  willingness 
to  die  for  his  country  as  well  as  to  fight  for  her.  If  he 
died  before  that  country  wakened  to  her  need  to  fight, 
he  would  be  giving  himself  for  the  same  cause — the 

34 


TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

liberty    of    peoples    and    the    democracy    of    nations. 

He  told  her  he  should  be  glad  to  go,  although  he  would 
miss  some  of  the  fellows  who  were  not  to  go  until  later. 
He  had  made  few  close  friendships — it  wasn't  his  way. 
But  one  or  two  he  spoke  of  by  name.  Those  his  mother 
realized  had  meant  much  to  him. 

He  wrote  of  the  camp  songs,  how  "Keep  the  Home- 
fires  Burning  Till  the  Boys  Come  Home,"  was  his 
favorite.  He  liked  the  Canadian  soldiers.  "They  are 
different  from  us,  but  they  are  great  fellows,"  he  said. 

All  this  Peter  had  told  in  simple,  often  ungrammatical 
language,  for  Peter  had  no  more  education  than  had  Ber- 
tha or  the  other  boys  and  girls  of  the  town.  Just  went 
through  the  common  school ;  then  had  to  help  his  father. 

Then  after  he  had  assured  his  mother  of  his  love, 
and  spoke  of  her  as  having  the  harder  part,  that  of 
waiting  while  he  would  be  fighting,  he  added : 

"You  know  Bertha  Hunter  is  in  New  York  with  her 
aunt.  On  my  way  back  and  forth  I  have  seen  a  lot  of 
her.  We  love  each  other  and  are  going  to  be  married 
in  the  morning  before  I  go  back  to  camp,  and  then 
'over  there.'  It  seems  hard  to  think  of  leaving  her, 
but  she  wants  it  that  way.  Please  write  to  her,  and 
if  she  comes  back  to  Haynesville  see  as  much  of  her  as 
you  can.  She  says  she  is  going  to  stay  in  New  York, 
but  I  don't  think  she  will,  not  for  long.  She  will  be 
lonely. 

"Now,  once  more,  dear  mother,  good-bye.  Comfort 
father  all  you  can.  He,  I  am  sure,  does  not  yet  feel 
reconciled  to  my  joining  the  British  army.  Had  it  been 
our  own  he  would  have  understood.  Later  when  I  switch 

35 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

over — as  I  surely  shall — he  will  feel  better  about  it.  You 
have  understood  from  the  beginning.  Mothers  always 
understand  their  boys,  I  guess.  Anyhow  you  have  al- 
ways understood  your  loving  son,  PETER." 

It  would  have  puzzled  Peter  as  to  what  she  meant  could 
he  have  heard  his  mother  sigh  and  say  "poor  boy"  as 
she  read  that  he  was  to  marry  Bertha.  Surely  she  could 
have  nothing  against  a  girl  she  had  known  all  her  life. 
But  once  again  as  Mrs.  Moore  folded  her  son's  letter 
and  placed  it  between  the  leaves  of  the  family  Bible  for 
father  to  read  when  he  came  home,  she  whispered  to 
herself,  "poor  boy." 

Mothers  sometimes  plumb  the  shallowness  which  is  not 
apparent  to  their  sons. 

That  Peter's  father  did  not  understand  the  attitude 
of  his  son  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  The  country  at  large 
had  no  conception  that  we  would  ever  be  mixed  up  in 
the  war.  No  one  in  America  had  a  real  understanding 
of  its  true  dimensions;  no  one  of  the  people.  Britons 
were  trained  soldiers.  They  and  the  French  could  fight 
their  own  battles.  It  was  none  of  our  affair,  we  of  the 
States.  So  Mr.  Moore,  and  not  only  he,  but  nearly  the 
entire  population  figured.  The  bitter  tragedy,  the 
atrocious  cruelty  and  injustice  which  were  to  be  brought 
upon  the  world  by  the  unspeakable  Hun  were  not  con- 
ceivable. Anyway  we  were  too  far  away  to  have  it 
affect  us. 

Peter  had  written  of  his  mates  in  camp:  The  Aus- 
tralians, the  Canadians,  "Canucks,"  he  called  them,  the 
men  from  the  great  northwest,  from  Hudson  bay  and 
Alaska.  He  had  to  confess  there  were  few  Americans. 

36 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"There  will  be  more  later  when  they  understand," 
he  said,  in  explanation. 

Mr.  Moore  did  not  agree  with  his  son  and  had  written 
many  letters  urging  Peter  to  come  home  and  wait.  Not 
yet  could  he  believe  America  would  join  the  war;  al- 
though old  Thomas  Brooks  still  insisted  he  "warn't  so 
sure. ' ' 

But  Peter's  mother  had  imbibed  much  of  Peter's 
spirit.  She  said  but  little  when  John  grumbled  because 
he  needed  his  boy's  help,  then  she  would  ask: 

"Wouldn't  you  be  ashamed  of  him,  John,  if,  feeling 
as  he  does,  he  hadn't  gone?  Try  to  see  it  from  his 
point  of  view,  father.  It  is  hard  to  let  him  go,  our 
only  child,  but  he  will  be  twice  the  man  when  he  comes 
back  and " 

"If  he  comes  back." 

"He  will  come  back,  father!"  Then  she  added  so 
low  he  could  not  hear,  "in  spirit  anyway." 

The  marriage  bureau  was  doing  a  rushing  business 
when  at  last  Peter  and  Bertha  had  their  turn.  But  it 
takes  only  a  few  minutes  to  tie  the  knot  that  is  so  hard 
to  loosen.  They  walked  out  into  the  busy  street,  Peter 
very  pale,  Bertha  very  rosy,  chatting  gaily,  walking 
proudly  beside  her  soldier-husband. 

Peter  had  not  told  her.  He  lacked  the  courage.  But 
the  ship  was  to  sail  sooner  than  he  had  expected.  His 
train  left  almost  immediately.  He  must  take  it  to  get 
back  to  camp  in  season.  Instead  of  a  few  hours  to-, 
gether,  they  had  to  count  the  minutes.  They  parted  at 
the  station,  Peter  still  very  pale,  Bertha  flushed  and 

37 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

crying  softly  as  she  twisted  the  gold  band  Peter  had 
slipped  over  her  finger.  She  begged  to  go  with  him. 
It  was  hard  to  make  her  understand  it  was  impossible, 
that  it  was  against  orders. 

"Send  me  away  with  a  smile,  Bertha,"  he  begged 
huskily.  And  to  do  Bertha  justice,  she  did  her  best. 
She  wiped  her  eyes  while  they  planned  their  letters, 
how  they  would  tell  each  other  everything.  It  was  not 
until  the  train  had  pulled  out  of  the  station  that  Peter 
remembered  how  little  they  had  talked  of  what  Bertha 
would  do  when  he  had  gone.  Save  that  she  had  declared 
she  would  remain  in  New  York,  there  had  been  nothing 
said  on  the  subject.  Queer  way  for  a  husband  and  wife 
to  part,  he  thought,  then  forgot  all  about  it  as  he  talked 
to  an  officer,  who  was  also  going  overseas  at  the  same 
time  he  was. 

If  afterward  Peter  gave  Bertha's  plan  any  thought  it 
was  that  she  would  soon  tire  of  staying  in  the  city  and 
go  home  to  her  father  and  mother.  It  was  the  natural 
thing  for  her  to  do. 

In  camp  all  was  hurry  and  bustle.  Peter  had  little 
time  to  think  of  Bertha  or  anyone.  Yet  it  was  not 
Bertha's  image  which  came  before  him  as  he  hustled 
about  making  ready;  it  was  that  of  his  mother,  who 
"understood,"  and  who  had  said  she  was  "proud  of 
him." 

Peter  had  an  open  mind.  He  had  learned  much 
while  in  camp ;  much  that  he  never  could  have  learned 
from  books.  In  his  dreams  he  saw  Germany's  grasp- 
ing fist  reaching  out  even  to  the  quiet  little  home  in 
the  middle  west.  It  must  be  prevented.  America  must 

38 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

not  fall  under  German  dominion.  God  never  meant  a 
free  people,  a  free  country  to  be  so  outraged.  If  her  men 
were  slow  in  waking  up  it  would  be  so  much  the  harder 
for  them  when  the  time  came.  So  many  more  would 
have  to  be  sacrificed  before  the  insatiable  Hun  could  be 
annihilated. 

Out  of  what  he  dreamed  was  born  a  new  religion;  a 
new  faith  in  the  God  of  wisdom  and  of  justice. 

"God  couldn't  be  just  and  let  us  perish,"  he  would 
say  aloud.  He  had  formed  the  habit  of  communing 
with  himself.  And  often  he  would  forget  there  were 
men  to  whom  he  might  have  unbosomed  himself;  who 
would  be  glad  to  argue  with  him. 

Keally,  he  did  not  want  to  argue.  He  felt  that  things 
were  so.  The  fellows,  the  slow,  heavy-moving  British 
mind,  might  not  understand. 

They,  too,  might  call  him  "queer"  and  say  he  was 
"nuts,"  as  had  the  fellows  in  the  recruiting  station  when 
he  was  taking  a  day  off  in  the  city.  He  was  treading 
a  new  path;  not  only  were  his  feet  solidly  upon  it,  but 
his  spirit  was  also  keeping  step,  marking  time  with  his 
marching  feet. 

He  shut  his  eyes  and  tried  to  see  Flanders'  field  as 
some  of  the  wounded  men  who  had  been  invalided  home 
to  Canada  described  it — the  seas  of  mud,  the  unburied 
dead,  who  sometimes  came  to  the  surface  under  the  feet 
of  the  soldiers ;  the  desolation.  He  visualized  it  all,  and 
more.  Yet  his  soul  never  quailed;  never  once  did  he 
draw  back  even  in  spirit  from  the  task  he  had  set  him- 
self. It  was  on  and  ' '  over  the  top ' '  always.  He  laughed 
when  they  told  him  of  the  discomfort  of  the  trenches. 

39 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

What  was  a  little  mud?  What  mattered  sleeping  in 
wet  clothes?  What  mattered  anything  save  only  the 
salvation  of  the  world? 

Always,  after  thinking  of  these  things,  his  mood  was 
exalted.  Then  he  would  feel  that  to  serve,  even  to  die, 
was  not  only  a  duty,  but  a  pleasure.  But,  mostly,  the 
grimness  of  things  set  his  lips  firmly  together  as  his 
love  for  country  and  hate  for  the  Hun  filled  his  thoughts. 

"He's  a  good  hater!"  his  comrades  said  of  him. 
"He'll  make  a  good  fighter." 

' '  Them  quiet  sort  always  give  a  good  account  of  them- 
selves," one  husky  from  the  northwest  said.  "It's  the 
man  who  blows  about  what  he  can  do  that  hides  behind 
the  other  fellow,  when  it  comes  to  fighting. ' ' 

So  while  Peter  was  not  what  you  would  call  popular 
with  his  mates,  he  was  respected,  which  means  much 
more.  Not  that  he  was  unpopular,  but  he  was  too  ab- 
sorbed, too  quiet  to  become  more  than  casually  acquainted 
with  the  men  in  camp  with  him. 

Then  one  morning  they  sailed  under  sealed  orders. 
Like  the  rest,  Peter  stood  on  deck  until  the  gray-blue 
line  of  shore  disappeared  in  the  distance.  But,  unlike 
the  majority  of  the  boys,  there  were  no  eager,  tear- 
dimmed  eyes  to  watch  him  go.  He  was  away  from  home ; 
an  American  enlisted,  going  of  his  own  free  will,  to  fight 
in  His  Majesty's  army  because  his  own  country  was  not 
ready. 

When  Peter  finally  arrived  "Somewhere  in  France," 
after  an  uneventful  voyage,  he,  with  the  rest  of  the  boys, 
mailed  cards  telling  of  his  safe  arrival.  Then  home, 
Bertha,  everything  was  blotted  out  for  the  time  being. 

40 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

The  strangeness,  the  excitement  of  this  new  existence 
upon  which  he  had  entered,  which  was  to  be  his  hence- 
forth, absorbed  all  his  faculties.  The  unknown  country, 
the  people;  it  was  like  a  wonderful  dream. 

Bertha  was  fairly  inundated  with  letters  and  ques- 
tions. Her  own  mother  and  father  were  pleased  that 
she  had  married  a  steady  boy  like  Peter ;  displeased  that 
she  had  not  been  content  to  wait  until  he  came  back 
from  the  war.  Peter's  mother  wrote  very  kindly,  call- 
ing her  "daughter,"  and  telling  her  that  now  she  had 
two  homes  in  Haynesville,  so  she  must  hurry  back  to 
brighten  them  both. 

A  perfect  storm  of  protest  greeted  her  when  she  wrote 
of  her  determination  to  remain  in  New  York.  Her  father 
vowed  that  home  was  the  place  for  her,  married  or  not 
married — unless  her  husband  was  with  her.  He  told  her 
that  New  York  was  no  place  for  a  young  girl  to  live, 
and  that  her  mother  needed  her  to  help  about  the  house. 

Her  mother  also  wrote  her,  a  pitiful  appeal  to  come 
home,  telling  her  they  would  do  all  they  could  to  make 
her  happy  and  contented.  Also  she  said  that  her  father 
had  sworn  not  to  give  her  another  cent  as  long  as  she 
remained  away.  That  everyone  took  it  for  granted  she 
would  come  right  back  and  spend  her  time  between  the 
two  homes.  Her  marriage  had  been  put  in  the  county 
paper  and  the  boys  and  girls  were  all  excited  over  it. 

But  to  all  their  pleadings  Bertha  returned  a  deter- 
mined "No!"  she  would  live  her  own  life  now;  she 
would  stay  in  New  York.  She  would  have  part  of  Peter's 
pay.  She  would  manage  to  get  along  without  any  of 
her  father's  money. 

41 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

New  York  had  lost  none  of  its  lure  because  Peter  had 
gone  so  far  away ;  it  had  simply  changed  in  quality.  Now 
she  walked  the  Avenue  more  often.  The  store  windows, 
the  beautifully  dressed  women,  the  smart-looking  men 
all  interested  her  much  more  than  they  did  when  her 
thoughts  were  upon  Peter. 

She  managed  to  get  along  with  very  little  money. 
She  would  find  something  to  do  when  she  got  ready. 
There  was  no  hurry.  Then  one  day  as  she  walked  the 
Avenue  as  usual,  she  saw  a  sign  in  the  window  of  a  very 
exclusive  hat  shop,  "Help  wanted."  All  suddenly  it 
came  to  her  that  she  would  like  to  work  in  such  a  place. 

It  was  an  experienced  trimmer  they  wanted,  the 
stylishly  gowned  saleslady  told  her  in  answer  to  her 
questions.  But  when  the  owner  of  the  store  stopped  to 
listen  to  the  conversation  and  saw  Bertha,  noted  her 
lovely  hair,  her  complexion,  the  trig  way  she  wore  her 
little  self -trimmed  hat,  she  asked  her  how  she  would  like 
to  come  to  the  shop  and  learn  how  to  sell  hats;  to  try 
them  on  for  the  customers,  so  they  could  see  how  they 
liked  them,  etc. 

Bertha  gasped  at  the  vista  opened  before  her.  To 
spend  her  days  in  that  wonderful  shop  instead  of  at 
Aunt  Martha's.  To  handle  those  beautiful  hats,  to  try 
them  on,  to  wait  on  the  ladies  who  mostly  came  in 
motor-cars  and  carried  pet  dogs  under  their  arms.  It 
would  be  heavenly! 

So  it  was  settled.  Bertha  for  the  first  time  in  her 
nineteen  years  became  a  wage  earner.  She  gave  her 
name  when  asked  as  Bertha  Moore.  No  one  noticed  that 
she  hesitated  and  stuttered  a  little  over  it :  she  had  had 

42 


You'll  have  a  lot  better  time  if  they  don't  know  you. 
are  married." 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

no  occasion  yet  to  use  it,  and  it  seemed  odd.  No  one 
asked  her  if  she  were  married,  so  she  said  nothing  about 
it.  She  was  entered  upon  the  books  of  the  firm  as  ' '  Miss 
Bertha  Moore. ' ' 

Her  salary  was  very  small,  little  more  than  what  she 
spent  for  lunches  and  carfare.  But  they  assured  her  it 
would  soon  be  advanced,  and  she  was  content.  They 
did  not  know  it,  but  she  would  have  worked  for  nothing 
rather  than  give  up  the  delight  she  felt  in  the  place. 

At  first  Bertha  wrote  faithfully  to  Peter,  although 
she  rather  neglected  the  folks  at  home.  But  gradually 
her  new  life  absorbed  her.  She  became  friends  with  one 
of  the  salesgirls,  and  they  often  went  out  in  the  evening 
together;  sometimes  by  themselves,  sometimes  with  a 
young  man,  a  friend  of  Julia  Lawrence,  the  other  girl. 

In  a  burst  of  confidence  Bertha  told  Julia  of  her 
soldier  husband.  And  Julia,  after  she  had  wormed  all 
the  circumstances  from  Bertha,  how  Peter  had  gone 
away  immediately  they  were  married,  and  so  forth,  ad- 
vised Bertha  to  say  nothing  about  herself. 

"You'll  have  a  lot  better  time  if  they  don't  know  you 
are  married, ' '  she  told  her ;  and  Bertha,  easily  led,  con- 
sented to  keep  still  about  her  marriage,  which  Julia 
assured  her  was  really  no  marriage  at  all,  and  hinted 
that  Peter  might  never  come  back  to  claim  her. 

Peter  Moore,  like  so  many  other  American  boys  have 
since  done,  had  gone  through  a  process  of  evolution.  He 
had  taken  his  duties  more  seriously  than  most  from 
the  very  beginning  of  his  life  as  a  soldier.  He  took 
them  more  and  more  seriously  as  time  went  on. 

You  would  go  far  before  finding  a  manlier,  better 

43 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

looking  fellow  than  this  young  American  soldier  who 
had  joined  the  ranks  of  the  British  army.  Lithe  and 
tall,  he  was  every  inch  a  man.  Too  quiet,  some  said,  but 
a  thoroughbred,  they  all  agreed. 

"He  will  win  his  shoulder  straps,"  they  said  before 
he  had  been  with  them  many  days.  And  not  a  Tommy 
of  them  was  heard  to  say  an  envious  word.  He  so  eagerly 
offered  himself  heart  and  soul  to  the  army;  he  was  so 
sure  it  was  the  right  thing  he  had  done,  the  only  thing, 
that  his  earnestness  won  him  the  unstinted  praise  of  all, 
— officers  and  men. 

Peter  now  saw  the  great,  the  raw,  the  terrible  facts 
of  life  for  the  first  time.  He  saw  death  and  unthought- 
of,  unimagined  suffering.  He  realized  anew  that  trifles 
didn't  count.  That  if  there  was  anything  really  big  in 
life  it  was  the  thing  you  went  after  with  all  your  soul, 
all  your  strength.  You  went  after  it  straight;  you 
didn't  hesitate  nor  beat  about  the  bush.  Essentials  were 
the  only  things  that  counted. 

He  was  fiercely  rebellious  that  America,  her  men,  did 
not  sense  the  need  of  preparedness.  This  war  was  to 
be  no  life  tragedy  of  an  individual  or  of  an  individual 
country ;  it  was  to  be  the  life  tragedy  of  the  world.  Why 
could  not  those  at  home  see  it?  It  was  doomed  to  be 
the  great  heart-tearing  tragedy  of  all  humanity ;  nothing 
could  prevent  that.  And  they  were  so  slow  to  see  it; 
so  slow. 

So  he  agonized,  but  none  knew  it.  He  was  too  much 
of  an  American  to  criticise  his  country  to  an  alien,  if  a 
friendly  one.  But  as  the  days  passed  he  grew  more  and 
more  imbued  with  the  one  thought — the  thought  that, 

44 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

sooner  or  later,  America  was  bound  to  take  a  stand,  a 
stand  for  the  liberty  and  democracy  of  the  entire  world. 
Then,  too,  he  was  getting  an  idea  of  the  German  at  close 
range.  He  had  hated,  now  he  both  hated  and  mistrusted. 
There  was  no  such  thing  as  honor  in  the  Hun,  no  real 
civilization.  The  Hun  of  Attila,  of  whom  he  had  read 
in  a  book  loaned  him  by  an  English  soldier,  was  far  and 
away  a  civilized  being  compared  to  the  Hun  who  had 
ravaged  Belgium;  who  had  inflicted  unspeakable  hor- 
rors on  innocent  women  and  children;  who  had  held 
maidens  as  so  much  food  for  lustful  soldiers. 

Only  when  he  was  busy,  when  he  was  given  something 
to  do,  could  he  forget  the  awfulness  of  his  country's 
indecision.  Only  then  did  he  feel  that  he,  an  American, 
was  doing  his  part  in  this  great  world  struggle.  A 
struggle  that  had  been  started  by  a  lie;  the  making  of 
the  assassination  of  Archduke  Franz  Ferdinand,  by  a 
Bosnian  student,  the  flimsy  pretext  to  start  a  war  for 
world  domination. 

But  so  it  was.  And  as  Peter  read  and  heard  he  grew 
more  and  more  bitter  that  America  so  calmly  looked 
on ;  while  his  hatred  for  the  grasping  monarch  who  had 
snatched  at  this  straw  to  increase  his  power,  grew 
greater. 

But  what  could  he  do?  He  was  but  an  infinitesimal 
speck  in  this  great  army  battling  for  the  right.  He 
could  only  do  his  duty;  more,  if  it  came  his  way,  and 
wait. 

Strange  to  say,  his  faith  in  the  ultimate  decision  of 
the  United  States  never  wavered.  They  must  come  in 
was  always  the  last  word  in  his  mental  cogitations.  And 

45 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

in  the  meantime  he  was  at  the  front  as  sentry  in  No- 
Man's  Land  on  nights  when  the  mud  oozed  forth  the 
corpses  of  murdered  British  and  French  soldiers;  on 
nights  so  dark  that  he  had  literally  to  feel  his  way  almost 
on  hands  and  knees  to  escape  the  pits  dug  by  the  Ger- 
mans; on  nights  when  the  light  made  him  a  target  for 
the  foe.  It  was  all  one  to  Peter.  He  had  gone  ever  to 
serve. 

Often  his  thoughts  reverted  to  Bertha,  but  never  in 
more  than  a  questioning  way.  He  sometimes  wondered 
just  why  she  stayed  on  in  New  York — she  had  told  him 
nothing  of  the  shop — why  she  didn't  go  home.  But  it 
was  of  so  little  importance  compared  with  what  was 
going  on  about  him  that  he  dismissed  it  with  little  more 
than  a  shrug. 

Bertha  had  made  more  than  good  as  a  millinery  sales- 
woman. Her  salary  had  been  increased  to  one  of  such 
generous  proportions  that  she  could  now  indulge  her 
love  for  dress  to  a  certain  extent.  And  as  always, 
owing  to  her  good  taste  and  her  wizardry  with  her  needle 
she  looked  much  better  dressed  than  girls  who  spent 
far  more.  Then  Bertha  was  stylish.  She  had  an  air. 
In  the  shop  this  was  a  great  asset,  and  they  were  not 
slow  to  recognize  its  worth  to  them.  She  had  a  nice 
way,  too,  with  the  customers.  She  really  loved  to  handle 
the  hats,  to  make  a  plain-looking  woman  attractive 
by  suiting  her  style  and  type  with  a  becoming  cha- 
peau. 

But  Bertha  did  not  spend  quite  all  her  airs  and  graces 
upon  the  customers.  Through  Julia  Lawrence  she  had 

46 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

become  acquainted  with  a  small  coterie  of  salesgirls  in 
other  establishments,  and  of  course  with  their  "gentle- 
men friends. ' '  She  accepted  the  invitations  to  the  thea- 
ter and  to  dinner  from  them.  They  all  called  her  ' '  Miss 
Moore,"  and  she,  acting  on  Julia  Lawrence's  advice,  took 
no  pains  to  set  them  straight.  Really,  she  gave  it  very 
little  thought.  Had  anyone  asked  her  pointblank  if  she 
were  married  she  would  have  told  them  the  truth ;  but  no 
one  asked  her. 

Sometimes  she  wondered  how  she  could  have  thought 
she  wac  having  a  good  time  riding  on  a  bus,  or  at  a  cheap 
movie  with  Peter.  She  smiled  in  a  superior  way  as  she 
thought  of  the  day  they  lunched  at  the  white-front 
eating  place  and  she  thought  the  bill  extravagant.  Now 
she  often  dined  at  the  Fifth  Avenue  restaurants,  the 
places  that  she  and  Peter  had  scarcely  dreamed  of  even 
talking  about,  and  when  she  went  to  the  theater  she  sat 
in  the  orchestra  chairs.  The  young  men  who  "took  her 
out"  now  would  not  think  of  asking  her  to  sit  any- 
where else. 

She  also  wondered  why  she  did  not  appreciate  the 
charm  of  the  "New  York  fellows"  in  those  days. 
Haynesville  boys  were  so  countryfied  beside  them. 
Some  way  she  did  not  really  include  Peter  in  her  esti- 
mate of  Haynesville  boys.  Not  that  she  intentionally 
made  an  exception  of  him,  but  she  at  times  almost  forgot 
there  was  such  a  person  as  Peter.  More  seldom  still 
did  she  remember  that  he  was  her  husband. 

Once  in  a  while  it  was  brought  to  her  notice  in  a  man- 
ner she  hated.  At  some  dinner  party,  or  some  other 
gay  affair  someone  would  joke  about  married  people,  and 

47 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

perhaps  some  of  the  company  would  "get  fresh"  as 
Bertha  called  it.  "New  York  men  aren't  bashful," 
she  once  said  to  Julia.  ' '  They  make  me  mad  when  they 
get  fresh!" 

"Oh,  they  don't  mean  anything!"  Julia  responded, 
thereby  giving  Bertha  rather  a  shock.  A  Haynesville 
boy  would  not  dare  make  such  advances  to  a  girl  unless 
he  meant  marriage;  hardly  even  then. 

"I  don't  like  it,  Julia.  I  feel  as  if  I  ought  to  tell  them 
I'm  married.  I  don't  see  why  they  wouldn't  like  me 
just  as  well,  and  perhaps  it  would  keep  them  from 
acting  so  silly." 

"Don't  fool  yourself!"  Julia  answered.  Her  longer 
experience  had  made  her  wise.  "Men,  New  York  men, 
ain't  got  no  use  for  married  women.  Not  to  give  them 
a  good  time  and  get  nothing  out  of  it.  But  a  pretty 
girl  like  you,  Bertha,  why  you  always  have  them  guess- 
ing. They  might  want  to  marry  you  themselves  some 
day;  so  they  don't  dast  make  you  mad  by  acting  fresh." 

"But  I  don't  see  what  difference  it  makes  my  being 
married.  I  can't  marry  twice,  you  know.  And  if  they 
like  me,  like  to  take  me  out,  why  should  my  having  a 
husband  on  the  other  side  of  the  world  make  them  act 
any  different?" 

"You're  a  silly,  Bertha!"  Julia  said  impatiently. 
' '  Don 't  you  know  that  a  man  thinks  he  can  make  a  fool 
of  himself  and  her,  with  a  married  woman  and  nobody 
will  know  it?  She  dasn't  tell,  and  he  won't,  so  there 
you  have  it.  But  it's  different  when  they  are  going 
with  a  girl.  They  know  if  they  are  fresh,  that  the  girl 
may  turn  them  down,  and  if  they  like  the  girl  they  are 

48 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

pretty  careful."  Then  after  a  minute  Julia  added, 
"and  you  ain't  really  married,  Bertha;  you  never  lived 
with  him." 

"But  the  notice  was  in  the  HaynesvUle  Times,  and  alf 
the  folks  out  home  know  it." 

"Yes,  that  may  be,  but  New  York  folks  don't  know 
that  Haynesville  is  on  the  map.  They  ain  't  never  heard 
of  it;  and  wouldn't  know  you  came  from  there  if  they 
did.  I  have  lived  in  New  York  a  good  many  more  years 
than  you  have,  Bertha,  and  believe  me  the  New  York 
fellows  are  so  busy  trying  to  make  money  and  having  a 
good  time  they  don't  have  no  time  to  look  up  your 
history." 

Bertha  did  not  know  until  long  afterward  that  as  far 
as  Julia  was  concerned  that  was  a  blessing. 

Among  the  young  men  Bertha  had  met,  and  seemingly 
impressed,  was  Bates  Freeman,  the  son  of  a  banker.  A 
slight,  rather  effeminate  looking  fellow,  but  exquisite  in 
his  dress  and  manners — when  in  public.  He  had  ' '  oodles 
of  money,"  Julia  told  Bertha,  and  all  the  girls  were 
crazy  over  him. 

"You  mean  over  the  way  he  spends  his  money,  don't 
you?"  Bertha  asked.  She  also  liked  Bates.  He 
seemed  so  elegant,  so  refined — as  she  thought  of  refine- 
ment. In  her  mind  she  had  compared  him  to  Peter,  and 
to  Peter's  disadvantage.  Bates  was  lithe  and  slender, 
graceful  in  all  his  movements.  Peter  was  big  and  broad- 
shouldered,  narrow-hipped,  but  strong  and  healthy 
looking.  Bates,  too,  was  a  college  man,  and  to  Bertha 
the  very  expression  meant  something  different  from  any 
of  the  boys  or  men  she  ever  had  known.  A  "college 

49 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

man"  was  of  a  little  different  fiber,  naturally,  she  imag- 
ined from  boys  and  men  whose  education  had  been  lim- 
ited to  high  school.  Bates  talked  of  the  college,  of  the 
societies  to  which  he  belonged,  the  ' '  good  fellows ' '  whom 
he  had  met  while  there,  and  whose  friendship  he  valued 
— at  least  enough  to  make  them  his  companions  when 
having  a  good  time.  Once  he  spoke  of  his  "Alma 
Mater,"  and  Bertha  would  not  eat  her  dinner  until  she 
had  looked  in  a  dictionary  to  find  out  what  he  meant. 
She  had  liked  the  sound  of  it. 

Bates  had  telephoned  Bertha  at  the  shop.  Would  she 
go  to  dinner  with  him  ?  She  had  been  with  him  several 
times,  but  she  hesitated.  Finally  she  told  him  she  would 
call  him  during  her  luncheon  hour  and  let  him  know. 

At  noon  she  confided  in  Julia. 

"Don't  be  an  idiot,  Bertha!  Bates  Freeman  can  have 
all  the  girls  he  wants.  If  you  treat  him  so  cold  you'll 
lose  him.  All  the  girls  are  envious  of  you,  some  of  them 
so  jealous  they  can't  see.  And,  believe  me,  that  kind 
who  blow  their  money  like  he  does  don't  grow  on  bushes, 
not  even  in  New  York.  He's  handsome,  too." 

"I  know,  Julia,  and  I  like  him  awfully  well,  and  it  is 
nice  to  go  out  with  him.  He  gives  me  a  dandy  time.  But 
I  can't  go  on  letting  him  make  such  fierce  love  to  me 
when  I  am  married.  I  ought  to  tell " 

"Ought  to  nothing!"  Julia  interrupted.  "For 
heaven's  sake,  Bertha,  don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself! 
You  ain't  really  married  any  more  than  I  am.  That 
fellow  you  tied  yourself  to  most  likely  won't  ever  come 
back  anyway.  He 's  probably  making  love  to  some  French 
or  English  girl  this  very  minute.  Just  hang  on  to 

50 


Bates,  and  work  him  for  all  you're  worth.    He's  easy!" 

"It  don't  seem  fair  to  him — Mr.  Freeman,  I  mean," 
Bertha  objected,  weakly.  "He  seems  to  care  a  lot  for 
me,  Julia." 

"You  mean  you  think  he  might  want  to  marry  you? 
Land!  You  country  girls  are  the  limit!  You  think 
every  man  who  buys  a  dinner,  or  a  bunch  of  flowers 
wants  to  marry  you.  New  York  men,  my  dear,  ain't  so 
keen  on  raising  a  family." 

"I  don't  think  I  am  quite  as  bad  as  that,  Julia.  But 
when  he  wants — to — kiss  me,  and  makes  love  to  me, 

why Bertha  blushed  crimson  as  she  broke  off; 

She  had  not  yet  become  accustomed  to  the  promiscuous 
love  making  Julia  seemed  to  think  so  innocuous.  To 
Bertha  a  kiss,  an  embrace  still  meant  unusual  in- 
terest, if  not  love,  on  the  part  of  the  man  bestowing 
them. 

"It's  pretty  near  as  bad  as  that!  What  if  he  does 
want  to  kiss  you?  A  kiss  never  killed  anybody." 

"No — but why,  Julia — if  anybody  out  home 

in  Haynesville  knew  I  went  out  with  other  fellows  and 
had  a  good  time  they  would  think  it  was  perfectly 
awful.  And  if  they  knew  I  let  anyone  make  love  to  me 
and  kiss  me — well — not  one  of  them  would  ever  speak  to 
me  again.  Even  my  own  folks  would  think  I  could  not 
be  good  and  do  things  like  that." 

"It  makes  me  tired.  Country  folks  are  so  narrow. 
They  don't  know  nothing  about  city  life  and  city  folks." 
Julia  had  found  her  favorite  topic,  and,  once  launched 
upon  it,  she  would  tell  Bertha  all  she  thought  she  knew 
of  human  nature.  "The  city  men  don't  think  nothing 

51 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

of  a  kiss.  It  don 't  mean  anything  to  them  or  to  the  girls, 
either." 

' '  Oh,  but  it  must  to  the  girls — some  of  them,  anyway. ' ' 

"Not  on  your  life!  Not  to  a  girl  who  is  a  good  sport. 
They  just  take  it  as  part  of  the  good  time.  They  have  to 
do  something  to  please  the  men,  or  they  stop  asking  them 
to  go  out." 

Bertha  frowned.  She  had  not  adjusted  herself  to 
Julia's  worldly  viewpoint.  It  shocked  the  little  delicacy 
still  innate  in  the  country-bred  girl.  She  thought  of  her 
modest  mother,  of  Peter 's  mother.  She  was  on  the  point 
of  declaring  she  would  not  go  out  with  Bates  Freeman 
again.  Julia  saw  the  indecision  in  her  face.  It  did  not 
suit  her  plans  to  have  Bertha  refuse. 

"Very  well,  Bertha,  I  know  another  girl  he  likes. 
She  will  be  only  too  glad  to  go  with  him.  I  think  you 
are  real  mean,  though,  to  be  such  a  spoil-sport.  You 
know  I  like  you  better  than  I  do  any  of  the  other  girls 
and  would  rather  have  you  along. ' '  It  was  a  little  dinner 
party  of  four,  it  seemed.  Bates  had  said  nothing  about 
that;  he  had  telephoned  Julia  first.  Julia's  regular 
young  man  was  to  be  the  fourth. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  right  away  that  you  were 
going,  too?"  Bertha  asked,  not  acknowledging  even  to 
herself  that  it  was  what  Julia  had  said  about  the  other 
girl,  not  the  fact  that  she  was  going,  that  made  her  hesi- 
tate. 

"What  difference  did  that  make?  Bates  never  minds 
us.  He'd  kiss  you  just  as  quick  as  if  he  was  alone  with 
you. ' ' 

"Oh,  but  that's  different.  When  there's  someone  else 

52 


around  it  seems  like  fun.    It  don't  seem  so  in  earnest." 

"You're  a  funny  girl,  Bertha.    So  you'll  go?" 

"Yes — I  guess  so." 

' '  Then  hurry  up  and  phone  Bates.  It 's  time  we  were 
back  to  the  shop."  Bertha  hurried  to  the  telephone. 

"Hello— Bates!  Yes— I'll  go.  What— oh,  you 
mustn't  say  such  things  on  the  telephone.  Yes,  I'll  be 
ready  at  seven." 

"What  did  he  say  to  make  you  get  so  red?"  Julia 
asked  when  Bertha  had  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"He  said  I  was  a  little  darling,  and  that  I  wouldn't 
be  sorry." 

' '  I  don 't  see  anything  to  blush  about  in  that. ' '  Julia, 
as  may  be  imagined,  did  not  blush  easily  nor  often. 

That  night  Bates  was  more  open  in  his  love-making 
than  he  had  ever  been.  But  Julia  and  her  ' '  beau ' '  were 
along  so  Bertha  laughed  and  really  gave  it  very  little 
thought.  If  she  had  it  would  have  been  to  give  Julia 
credit  for  being  right.  No  man  would  mean  things  he 
said  before  others  not  such  things  as  Bates  said.  And 
when  he  kissed  her  she  just  teased  him  a  little  by  pre- 
tending she  hated  to  be  kissed  by  anyone. 

"I'll  bet  some  of  those  hayseeds  in  that  country  town 
where  you  came  from  kissed  you  all  right. ' '  Bertha  had 
told  him  she  was  from  the  country,  but,  acting  under 
Julia's  instructions,  she  had  not  told  him  the  name  of 
the  town. 

"No — honest!  I  never  did!"  she  returned.  Then 
thought  of  Peter  and  a  wave  of  crimson  dyed  her  face 
as  she  thought  of  his  kisses  the  night  she  told  him  she 
loved  him. 

53 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

1 '  There !  Look  at  her,  Julia !  She  never  blushed  like 
that  for  me.  Tell  me  his  name  so  I  can  go  out  and 
kill  him!"  he  said  in  so  comic  a  manner  they  all 
laughed  uproariously,  and  then  the  subject  was 
changed. 

"What  in  the  dickens  did  you  blush  like  that  for  last 
night  when  Bates  talked  about  hayseeds?"  Julia  asked 
the  next  day.  "He'll  be  getting  suspicious." 

"What  if  he  does?  He'll  have  to  know  some  day, 
Julia." 

"I  don't  see  why?" 

"Honest,  Julia,  he  is  so  sure  of  me,  sure  I  am  free, 
haven't  any  other  beau  that  I  am  getting  afraid.  He 
said  a  lot  of  things  coming  home  in  that  lovely  car  of 
his ;  and  he  kept  his  arm  around  me  all  the  way.  He  was 
nice  and  different,  too.  He  seemed  someway  to  mean 
more,  to  be  more  in  earnest.  He  talked  low  so  the 
chauffeur  couldn't  hear.  He  says  he  hates  to  have  me 
work  in  the  shop ;  and  when  I  told  him  I  just  loved  it, 
and  wouldn't  stop  working  for  anything  he  laughed  at 
me  and  called  me  a  'funny  girl.'  Then  he  asked  me 
how  long  I  had  been  in  New  York,  .and  why  I  didn  't 
live  home.  I  made  out  dad  was  too  poor  to  keep  me. 
Then  he  wanted  to  come  up  to  Aunt  Martha's  and  call 
on  me  there.  I  expect  "he  wants  to  know  how  I  live. 
You  know  I  have  always  met  him  downtown.  I  told 
him  he  couldn't  come.  I'd  be  so  ashamed  of  Aunt  "Mar- 
tha's parlor.  I  never  minded  Peter,  but  he  wasn't  a 
swell  like  Bates  Freeman." 

"He  was  getting  pretty  inquisitive,  wasn't  he?"  Julia 
said  in  a  peculiar  tone.  "But  don't  get  the  idea  into 

54 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

your  head  that  he  would  marry  you,  Bertha.  He'll  give 
you  a  jolt  some  day  if  you  do." 

"He's  awfully  nice,  anyway,"  Bertha  replied.  "He 
said  he'd  send  me  some  flowers  today.  I  had  to  give 
him  Aunt  Martha's  address.  I  hated  to,  but  I  didn't 
know  how  to  get  out  of  it." 

"He'll  be  up  there  spying  around  or  I  miss  my 
guess. ' ' 

Bertha  felt  troubled  and  anxious  all  the  rest  of  the 
day.  Would  Bates  go  up  to  her  aunt's,  and  see  the  poor 
way  she  lived?  She  prayed  not.  It  would  be  too  em- 
barrassing. Bertha  knew  she  dressed  well,  that  she  had 
more  style  than  the  average  girl.  She  never  felt  em- 
barrassed to  meet  him  downtown,  to  be  with  him.  But 
that  would  be  altogether  different. 


55 


CHAPTER  VI 

PETER  had  already  commenced  to  find  the  higher 
meaning  of  war.  The  lower  meaning  affected  him  not 
at  all.  He  saw  only  the  beauty  of  sacrifice,  the  necessity 
for  conquest.  The  ugliness,  the  rank  barbarity  of  con- 
flict he  would  not  consider. 

He  kept  himself  from  war's  debasements;  from  the 
excesses  that  loosen  the  life  and  destroy  the  fiber  of  the 
soldier;  from  the  lust  and  the  drunkenness;  from  all 
things  that  would  tend  to  make  him  either  coarse  or 
common.  In  reality  Peter  had  no  time  for  such  things. 
His  whole  mind,  every  spare  minute,  was  given  to  self- 
improvement.  Not  because  of  self,  however,  but  so  that 
he  might  be  of  more  use.  He  hesitated  at  nothing  that 
would  increase  his  efficiency  in  helping  to  rid  the  earth 
of  the  beasts  who  had  snatched  at  nothing  at  all  to 
start  their  battle  for  world  dominion.  And  always  he 
visioned  the  time  when  that  efficiency  would  be  thrown 
in  the  scale  with  America. 

Peter  fairly  ached  to  carry  the  flaming  message  of 
war,  this  war,  to  his  own  countrymen.  He  disliked  to 
talk  of  the  horrors  of  war,  yet  they  were  constantly  in 
his  mind  urging  him  to  greater  effort.  In  his  letters 
home  he  seldom  spoke  of  these  things  which  so  occupied 
him,  yet  his  mother,  her  insight  as  keen  as  his  own,  read 

56 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

between  the  lines,  and  sensed  something  of  the  agony 
of  spirit  those  horrors  awoke  in  her  boy. 

Peter  didn  't  talk  much.  There  were  many  other  quiet 
men  around  him.  The  English  aren't  a  voluble  race. 
Each  at  times  seemed  insulated  from  the  others  by  his 
own  aura  of  sorrow  and  desire  to  accomplish. 

The  sudden  emergence  of  Peter  from  a  factory  boy  in 
a  small  town  to  a  soldier  with  the  British  forces  was  one 
of  those  mysteries  that  baffle  analysis.  A  few  months 
before  he  was  only  one  of  a  number  of  small  town  boys. 
Now  he  was  a  soldier.  What  was  the  magic  secret  which 
had  enabled  this  boy  to  so  outstrip  his  friends  ? 

If  heredity  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  it  might  have 
been  that  indomitable  spirit,  that  sensitive  nature  in- 
herited from  his  mother,  that  clearness  of  vision  which 
had  always  been  hers,  and  which  had  descended  upon 
him. 

Peter  did  not  try  to  evade  life.  He  called  upon  it.  It 
played  upon  his  soul  from  all  angles.  He  took  it  in  his 
hands  with  a  large  courage  and  flung  it  back  with  all  his 
might.  In  the  midst  of  war  he  was  continually  folded  in 
a  dream  of  peace  which  isolated  him  in  an  age  of  unrest. 
His  dream,  the  entrance  of  America  into  the  war,  and 
its  resultant  effect  upon  the  world. 

He  eagerly  pounced  upon  the  books  supplied  the  sol- 
diers. He  ardently  studied  the  histories  of  other  wars. 
The  Franco-Prussian  war  in  particular  interested  him. 
He  determined  to  know  all  about  those  "damned 
Prussians"  as  he  stigmatized  them  in  his  thoughts. 

Occasionally  he  wrote  his  mother  of  his  studies.  He 
did  not  tell  her  how  he  envied  the  college  men  who 

57 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

grasped  so  easily  the  truths  he  had  to  dig  so  hard  to 
understand.  She  praised  and  encouraged  him. 

"Tell  me  what  you  are  reading,  Peter.  I  will  get  the 
same  books  and  read  them  too.  Then  when  you  come 
back,  dear  son,  I  shall  not  be  left  hopelessly  behind.  I 
want  to  share  your  thoughts,  to  get  the  same  view  of 
things  you  have.  But  it  will  be  hard,  living  the  con- 
stricted life  I  do,  unless  you  keep  me  fully  informed 
of  what  you  are  doing  so  that  I  can  keep  in  touch  with 
you." 

In  an  unusual  burst  of  confidence  Peter  read  this  part 
of  his  mother's  letter  to  an  Englishman  with  whom  he 
had  struck  up  a  certain  sort  of  friendship. 

"What  a  ripping  letter!"  the  Englishman  said.  "It 
would  hearten  any  soldier  to  do  his  best  if  he  had  a 
mother  like  that. ' ' 

' '  She  is  wonderful, ' '  Peter  replied,  his  voice  prideful. 

Occasionally,  without  meaning  to,  Peter  would  compare 
his  mother's  letters  with  those  he  received  from  Bertha. 
Always  he  would  rebuke  his  thoughts  by  saying,  ' '  She  'a 
only  a  girl." 

' '  I  am  longing  to  get  into  the  thick  of  things, ' '  he  had 
once  written  his  wife.  "It  seems  as  if  I  can  scarcely 
wait.  I  have  done  only  a  little  as  yet,  but  the  real  fight- 
ing is  near.  I  shall  be  so  happy  when  they  think  me  fit. 
I  want  to  stand  side  by  side  with  the  Tommies  and  fight 
for  what  will  soon  be  a  common  cause.  Soon  it  will  be 
our  cause,  America's  cause.  Sooner  than  you  think." 

There  was  much  more  which  Bertha  skipped  over  very 
quickly.  It  was  a  queer  letter,  she  thought,  not  one  word 
about  loving  her,  or  a  question  of  her  feeling  for  him. 

58 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Why  the  careless  notes  Bates  Freeman  wrote  her  ex- 
pressed more  feeling  for  her.  That  the  one  big,  mon- 
ster fact  of  war  had  overshadowed  all  else  in  Peter's 
mind  never  occurred  to  her. 

"He's  with  them  soldiers  all  the  time  and  he  can't 
think  of  anything  else, ' '  she  grumbled  to  Julia  Lawrence. 

''Don't  you  care!  You  are  having  a  pretty  good  time, 
too,"  Julia  replied,  showing  that  she,  too,  had  no  con- 
ception of  Peter's  feelings. 

Bertha  answered  Peter 's  letters,  but  while  at  first  she 
carefully  tried  to  catch  the  next  outgoing  ship,  she  now 
waited  until  she  found  time. 

' '  I  received  your  letter, ' '  she  wrote.  ' '  I  am  glad  you 
liked  the  things  I  sent  you.  Let  me  know  what  else  you 
want  and  I  will  send  it  to  you.  I  am  well.  Aunt  Martha 
is  having  lots  of  trouble  with  her  rheumatism  this  winter. 
I  shall  stay  with  her.  I  have  met  lots  of  nice  people  and 
I  am  not  lonely  here.  I  never  could  live  in  Haynesville 
again  after  living  in  New  York.  I  have  some  dandy 
times.  I  don't  see  why  you  keep  talking  and  writing 
about  America  getting  in  the  war.  No  one  talks  so  here 
in  New  York.  With  love,  BERTHA.  ' ' 

When  Peter  read  the  short,  uninteresting  missive  he 
folded  it  and  laid  it  away  in  his  kit.  Unlike  his  mother 's 
letters,  one  reading  would  suffice. 

"She's  only  a  girl,"  he  said  with  a  sigh. 

Poor  Peter ! 

Peter's  very  soul  longed  for  understanding.  He  felt 
so  spiritually  alone,  although  he  was  always  with  a 
crowd.  But  it  was  peculiar  to  him  that  he  never  thought 
of  blaming  Bertha  for  her  lack  of  understanding.  He 

59 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

didn't  really  comprehend  that  she  had  nothing  in  common 
with  him,  not  so  much  as  a  thought.  She  didn't  like  to 
put  her  thoughts  on  paper  as  he  did.  She  was  probably 
shy  about  talking  of  the  things  she  felt  keenly.  She 
wasn  't  to  blame.  He  had  married  her  and  left  her  before 
they  were  even  acquainted  as  man  and  wife  are  ac- 
quainted. In  his  heart  and  mind  Bertha,  his  wife,  had 
kept  pace  with  him.  As  he  had  broadened  and  expanded, 
so,  he  thought,  had  she. 

His  family,  his  father  and  mother,  meant  more  to  Peter 
now  than  ever  before.  Especially  his  mother.  At,  times 
he  almost  felt  that  she  was  with  him,  so  near  were  they 
in  spirit.  As  I  have  said,  Peter  was  neither  religious 
nor  irreligious.  But  in  a  way  religion  had  taken  on  a 
new  meaning.  He  trusted  God  and  felt  through  that 
trust  that  the  war  would  be  won  by  those  who  were  fight- 
ing for  a  righteous  cause. 

Peter  had  stopped  saying  his  prayers  at  night  when 
he  was  about  fifteen  years  old;  he  had  thought  them 
silly.  Now  he  never  laid  down  to  sleep  without  breath- 
ing a  prayer.  Often  it  was  a  very  simple  petition ;  then 
again  it  was  a  soul-agonizing  prayer  for  America.  That 
she  had  hesitated  so  long  was  the  hardest  cross  Peter  had 
to  bear — a  cross  he  must  bear  in  silence.  He  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  shooting  himself  as  of  criticising 
his  government  to  the  British.  He  heard  them  speculate, 
heard  America  called  laggard,  almost  cowardly,  and  yet 
he  held  his  peace.  His  day  would  come. 

He  remembered  what  old  Thomas  Martin  said : 

"Uncle  Sam  is  a  good  deal  like  a  lot  of  married  men. 
They  stand  a  heap ;  they  keep  still  for  a  long  time.  But 

60 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

when  they  does  turn,  look  out!  they  mean  business." 

Peter  was  sure  Uncle  Sam  would  turn;  and  he  was 
sure  that  when  he  did  he  would  mean  business. 

The  Canadian  troops  with  whom  Peter  was  affiliated 
were  among  the  most  daring  and  reckless  fighters  in  the 
British  army.  They  went ' '  over  the  top ' '  with  a  courage 
almost  superhuman.  The  infantry  was  perhaps  entitled 
to  the  greatest  praise  for  dauntless  courage.  Peter  was 
not  the  least  of  these  courageous  ones.  He  seemed  not  to 
know  the  meaning  of  fear  or  the  harassing  effect  of  doubt. 

"We  must  win"  was  his  slogan  now,  as  it  had  been 
before  he  left  home.  The  inferno  as  pictured  by  Dante 
was  but  a  pale  corpse  compared  to  the  inferno  of  the 
trenches  of  No  Man's  Land.  The  far-reaching  sea  of 
mud,  filled  with  unburied  dead,  was  the  very  "  abomina- 
tion of  desolation. ' '  It  was  enough  to  make  the  strongest 
man  hesitate,  the  strongest  spirit  quail.  But  Peter 
Moore  never  hesitated,  his  spirit  never  quailed.  He  justi- 
fied his  manhood,  his  Americanism,  by  his  devotion  to  his 
ideals,  and  his  contempt  for  death. 

Not  that  Peter  wanted  to  die.  Far  from  it.  He  had 
only  commenced  to  live.  His  soul  was  reborn,  his  outlook 
upon  life  changed  and  glorified.  But  he  had  no  fear  of 
death ;  if  it  came  in  the  line  of  duty,  it  was  ' '  part  of  his 
job,"  as  he  once  told  a  soldier  who  had  openly  marveled 
at  Peter's  courage  when  under  hot  blighting  fire  of  the 
enemy  he  had  been  the  first  to  go  ' '  over  the  top. ' ' 

In  a  way  Peter  was  also  happier  than  ever  he  had  been 
in  all  his  life.  His  duties,  his  sometimes  uncongenial 
work,  his  studies  helped  him  to  measure  up  to  the  stand- 
ard he  coveted.  He  did  not  mind  any  deprivation  that 

61 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

made  him  a  better  soldier ;  or  that  gave  him  time  to  add 
to  his  mental  equipment. 

"It  is  damnable!"  he  wrote  his  mother,  "yet  I  am 
happy.  I  am  continually  in  active  service  now.  The 
waiting  is  over.  I  know  you  watch  the  papers  for  the 
casualties.  But  I  feel  that  some  way  I  shall  be  spared  to 
see  you  again.  So  don't  worry.  Just  be  happy  to  think 
I  am  fortunate  enough  to  have  a  chance  to  help." 

Bates  Freeman  became  more  outspoken  in  his  devotion 
as  time  passed.  To  him  Bertha  was  an  enigma;  she 
piqued  him.  Accustomed  to  being  run  after  by  the 
young  women  in  the  fast  set  in  which  he  'mingled,  he 
could  not  understand  her  attitude.  She  was  poor;  he 
was  rich  and  generous.  That  she  repulsed  his  advances 
made  him  the  more  keen  to  win  her.  Julia  Lawrence  had 
not  been  quite  right  when  she  declared  that  Bates 
wouldn't  marry  Bertha.  He  wouldn't,  perhaps,  if  he 
could  get  her  any  other  way,  but  he  saw  that  to  have 
her  he  must  call  in  a  parson.  At  least  that  was  the  way 
he  figured. 

So  the  millionaire  youth  set  himself  to  the  task  of 
winning  Bertha  Moore,  Peter  Moore's  wife. 

The  irony  of  the  attempt  never  seemed  to  strike 
Bertha,  although  she  dimly  sensed  the  change  in  Bates. 
Now  she  knew  he  cared  for  her.  Before  it  had  been 
only  surmise. 

Her  life  "was  one  long,  good  time,"  as  she  naively 
confided  to  Julia.  Dinners,  theaters,  books  and  bon-bons 
were  daily  features  of  her  existence.  An  occasional 
more  expensive  gift  she  accepted  without  protest.  A 

62 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

ring,  a  diamond  pin,  a  bracelet  watch,  and  one  day  a 
check  for  five  hundred  dollars.  Bates  told  her  he  had 
bought  some  stock  for  her  and  that  was  her  profit. 

She  banked  the  check.  And  she  never  told  Julia. 
They  were  still  as  intimate  as  ever,  but  Julia  had  devel- 
oped the  borrowing  habit,  and  some  way  it  was  hard  for 
Bertha  to  refuse  her. 

"She  is  the  only  one  that  knows,"  Bertha  said  to  her- 
self the  night  Bates  told  her  he  truly  cared  for  her. 
He  told  it  seriously.  Bertha  knew  he  really  meant  it. 
Now  if  he  found  out  that  she  was  married  she  would 
surely  lose  him.  And  in  losing  him  she  would  lose  all 
the  good  times  she  had  begun  to  think  necessary  to  her 
very  existence.  She  must  keep  him  from  asking  her  to 
marry  him.  It  would  be  hard.  But  Bertha,  with  all 
her  foolishness,  was  keen  where  anything  concerning  her- 
self was  at  stake.  So  she  hedged  and  pretended  to  be 
surprised ;  that  she  liked  him,  but  that  was  all. 

"I'll  make  you  love  me!"  he  had  answered.  "I'll 
make  you,  and  then " 

"Make  me  first — and  then,"  Bertha  had  mimicked 
saucily. 

Bates  intrigued  himself  to  gain  her.  He  increased  his 
gifts.  He  spent  his  days  planning  for  her  happiness; 
his  evenings  were  entirely  given  over  to  her  whims. 

One  thing  he  had  not  been  able  to  compass.  Bertha 
would  not  give  up  her  position.  To  all  his  urgings  she 
answered,  "Not  yet,"  and  he  was  obliged  to  be  content. 

Julia  looked  on  at  the  little  game  of  hearts,  waiting 
her  time.  When  everything  was  settled  she  would  gain 
by  it  one  way  or  another.  Not  that  Julia  was  worse 

63 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

than  many  other  girls,  but  she  was  mercenary.     She 
always  kept  at  least  one  eye  open  for  the  main  chance. 

Under  her  tutelage  Bertha  had  learned  to  appreciate 
luxuries.  She  would  be  heartsick  if  she  were  compelled 
to  give  up  all  the  things  for  which  she  had  so  easily 
acquired  a  taste.  The  casual  mention  of  Peter's  name 
would  chill  her;  she  would  shiver  and  turn  pale.  Julia 
was  not  unobservant. 

Bates  was  proud  of  Bertha.  She  was  very  pretty,  very 
chic.  In  his  world  prettiness  in  a  girl  was  sine  qua,  non. 
He  used  to  think  of  her  as  a  lovely  picture  in  a  common 
frame.  If  he  had  his  way  he  would  soon  make  the  frame 
an  appropriate  one. 

He  was  telling  her  this  one  night  when  they  were  out 
riding  in  his  roadster.  He  was  a  reckless  driver  always, 
and  to-night  they  had  been  drinking  champagne.  Both 
were  in  high  spirits.  Bates'  love-making  was  in- 
sistent. 

Bertha  saw  two  blinding  lights  bearing  down  upon 
them.  There  was  a  terrific  crash,  then  a  crunching  sound 
that  made  her  feel  sick  and  weak.  For  an  instant  it 
seemed  as  if  they  were  doomed.  When  next  she  sensed 
her  surroundings  she  heard: 

"Are  you  hurt,  Bertha?"  It  was  Bates  who  spoke, 
but  his  voice  sounded  unnatural,  hoarse,  and  far  away. 
"We  had  a  close  shave." 

Bertha  shook  her  head.  She  was  very  white ;  her  teeth 
chattered.  Then  she  saw  that  Bates  was  holding  his 
right  arm  as  though  it  pained  him. 

"I  fainted,  I  guess,  Bates.  What  was  it?"  She 
struggled  to  her  feet. 

64 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"A  farmer  going  to  market.  I  guess  we  made  hash 
of  his  vegetables,  all  right." 

"But  you  are  hurt!"  He  had  winced  as  she  touched 
his  arm. 

"Sprained  wrist,  I  guess.  It  don't  matter  as  long  as 
you  are  safe.  Nothing  matters  but  you  any  more. 

"I  thought  I  had  lost  you — killed  you  with  my  care- 
lessness," he  said  after  they  were  seated  in  the  car. 
"I  should  have  died,  too,  if  I  had.  Bertha,  I  can  wait 
no  longer,  dear  heart.  When  will  you  marry  me?  Tell 
me,  dear." 

The  motor  accident  had  brought  about  the  very  con- 
dition Bertha  had  successfully  averted  for  so  long. 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  sincerity  of  Bates  Freeman's 
proposal.  Bertha,  too,  was  shaken  and  not  a  little 
frightened.  She  could  not  laugh  and  joke  as  usual,  so 
as  to  keep  Bates  from  insisting  upon  an  answer. 

Suppose  she  told  him  she  would  marry  him  to  keep 
him,  then  she  could  defer  the  marriage  just  as  she  had 
deferred  her  promise  to  have  him.  This  thought  ran 
swiftly  through  her  mind  as  he,  his  arm  around  her,  his 
face  close  to  hers,  pleaded  for  an  answer.  She  shivered 
slightly  in  his  arms.  Another  thought  had  flashed  across 
her  mind;  she  wanted  to  marry  him  and — she  couldn't. 
Bates  felt  her  shiver,  and  thinking  she  had  not  yet 
overcome  her  fright,  said  tenderly: 

' '  I  'm  a  brute  to  worry  you  when  I  almost  killed  you. 
Never  mind,  dear,  I  know  you  love  me.  I  '11  come  up  to- 
morrow night  for  my  answer. ' '  And  he  started  the  car, 
this  time  driving  very  slowly,  and  with  one  hand. 

"Yes,  do,  Bates,"  Bertha  said,  the  relief  of  the  short 

65 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

reprieve  so  welcome  it  made  her  feel  faint.  By  to- 
morrow night  she  would  have  planned  what  she  would 
say  to  him.  She,  perhaps,  could  spar  for  time  again; 
although  she  feared  it  had  come  to  what  Julia  called 
' '  a  showdown. ' ' 

When  Bates  left  her  she  made  him  promise  that  he 
would  immediately  drive  to  a  doctor  and  have  his  wrist 
looked  after.  She  could  see  by  the  lights  of  the  car  as 
they  stood  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  her  aunt's  home 
that  he  was  very  pale.  He  did  not  need  to  be  urged, 
his  wrist  had  swollen  badly,  and  pained  him  excruciat- 
ingly. 

Before  he  left  her  he  once  more  drew  Bertha  tenderly 
to  him,  and  kissed  her  fondly.  Frivolous,  almost  heart- 
less as  she  was,  Bertha  sensed  a  difference  in  his  caress; 
a  tenderness  not  so  evident  before.  It  left  her  trem- 
bling, uncertain,  almost  dazed.  While  believing  that  he 
loved  her,  nattered  that  he  wanted  to  marry  her,  never 
had  she  felt  the  seriousness  of  his  wooing,  the  manliness 
of  it  at  all  forcibly,  until  then. 

"Good-night,  darling;  thank  God  you  weren't  hurt," 
he  said  as  he  released  her. 

Bertha  ran  into  the  house  and  quietly  crept  up  the 
stairs  to  her  room.  She  didn  't  want  to  speak  to  anyone, 
she  wanted  to  be  alone  to  think.  Very  slowly  she  un- 
dressed, although  it  was  late,  and  she  had  always  to  rise 
early  so  that  she  would  be  on  time  at  the  shop.  At 
times  she  stood  motionless  in  the  act  of  disrobing,  and 
muttered  to  herself.  Could  she  put  Bates  off  longer? 
Did  she  want  to? 

Bertha  had  not  gone  so  far  as  to  think  of  freeing  her- 

66 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

self  from  Peter;  she  knew  she  couldn't.  But  she  hated 
to  lose  Bates  and  unless  she  promised  to  marry  him 
she  was  almost  sure  that  she  would.  His  new  serious- 
ness would  not  be  put  off  as  it  had  been  put  off  before. 
When  at  last  she  went  to  bed  she  had  decided  nothing 
save  that  she  must  not  lose  Bates  Freeman's  gifts,  his 
society,  him.  How  to  keep  him  had  become  a  vital, 
though,  at  present,  an  unanswerable,  question. 

Bertha  slept  fitfully.  She  had  been  terribly  fright- 
ened at  the  time  of  the  accident,  and  not  a  little  shaken. 
She  dreamed  of  motor-cars  going  over  embankments,  of 
being  in  one  and  trying  to  save  herself,  then  that  Bates 
was  the  one  who  was  in  the  car  and  that  he  had  been 
killed. 

She  woke  unrefreshed,  and  in  no  frame  of  mind  to 
think  out  her  problem.  She  dared  not  tell  her  aunt  why 
she  looked  so  worn  and  tired.  Mrs.  Eobinson  was  always 
telling  her  she  would  be  brought  home  dead  if  she  didn't 
stop  riding  in  ' '  them  devil  wagons, ' '  as  she  called  them, 
and  would  have  no  sympathy  for  her.  At  first  she  con- 
sidered remaining  at  home.  Then  that  would  be  harder 
than  to  go  to  business,  where  she  would  be  kept  busy. 

"What  ails  you,  Bertha?"  Julia  asked  during  the 
morning.  "You  look  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost,  you 
are  so  white.  Better  put  on  some  rouge  before  we  go 
out  to  lunch.  If  you  was  sick  why  didn  't  you  stay  home  ? 
With  Bates  Freeman  to  back  you  up  you  can  afford  to 
lose  a  day  once  in  a  while,  I  guess." 

"I'm  not  sick.  Bates  took  me  out  for  a  ride  last 
night  and  we  had  an  accident,  ran  into  a  farmer 's  wagon. 
It  shook  me  up  a  bit,  like  it  did  the  vegetables.  Bates 

67 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

said  it  made  'hash'  of  them,"  she  laughed  nervously. 
"I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  at  lunch  time."  She  meant 
about  the  accident.  She  had  no  slightest  intention  of 
telling  Julia  of  Bates'  proposal.  Really,  the  thought  of 
doing  so  had  not  entered  her  mind.  Of  late  she  had 
been  wary  of  what  she  told  Julia;  how  much  of  her 
confidence  she  gave  her.  She  sensed  that  Julia  was 
beginning  to  use  her  to  further  her  own  ends,  and  she 
rebelled.  That  is  she  rebelled  inwardly.  She  had  been 
very  careful  not  to  let  Julia  notice  any  difference.  So 
she  had  not  considered  telling  her  of  Bates'  latest  pro- 
posal, a  proposal  so  different  in  tone  from  those  which 
had  gone  before. 


68 


CHAPTER  VII 

PETER'S  letters  home  were  getting  intensely  interest- 
ing. His  mother  read  and  reread  them,  as  also  did  his 
father.  Then  they  were  passed  around  to  the  townfolk 
with  many  cautions  as  to  their  careful  handling.  The 
preacher;  old  Thomas  Brooks,  who  continued  to  wear 
his  faded  uniform,  and  ' '  reckoned  we  might  git  into  the 
war  yet;"  even  grouchy  Martin  Gormley,  were  allowed 
to  read  the  young  soldier's  letters;  all  save  the  extra 
sheet  that  was  "mother's."  The  sheet  which  was  in- 
tended only  for  her  loving  eyes,  and  upon  which  all  his 
enthusiasm,  his  soul  hunger,  his  longings  for,  and  his 
Teachings  out  after  the  higher  and  nobler  things  of 
life  were  inscribed. 

But  the  letters  that  told  of  the  roar  of  artillery,  of 
the  bursting  of  shells  so  near  that  he  was  almost  blinded 
by  the  dirt  they  flung  up,  of  the  necessity  for  "tin  hats" 
as  the  Tommies  called  them,  and  the  gas  masks  which 
some  way  he  said  seemed  to  make  him  hate  the  Germans 
more  than  did  anything  else — these  were  read  by  all. 

He  told  of  his  patrol  duty,  of  the  long  night  on 
Flanders  field,  when  rain  and  mud  and  the  smell  of  dead 
men  was  in  his  nostrils — which  at  first  had  nauseated 
him,  but  which  he  no  longer  minded.  How  many  of  the 
soldiers  told  him  he  was  a  "bloomin'  fool"  to  leave  home 

69 


TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

to  help  them,  at  the  same  time  they  would  be  doing  some- 
thing for  him.  "They  are  like  that  over  here.  They 
grouse  a  lot,  we  call  it  growl,  but  at  heart  they  are  great 
friends  and  great  soldiers." 

"I  always  have  a  feeling  that  I  would  like  to  dig  the 
graves  deeper,"  he  wrote  his  mother  privately,  "that  I 
would  like  to  cover  decently  with  earth  those  brave  fel- 
lows so  lightly  covered.  Yet  perhaps  when  Gabriel 
sounds  his  trumpet  they  will  be  among  the  first  to 
answer  the  call.  Who  knows?"  He  often  said  such 
things  to  her. 

But  his  letters  were  not  entirely  sad  or  filled  with  har- 
rowing tales.  He  often  told  of  laughable  experiences,  of 
words  the  British  soldiers  used  whose  meaning  he  did 
not  know,  and  so  he  would  do  exactly  opposite,  and  in 
many  cases  had  ridiculous  experiences  as  the  result. 

Old  Thomas  Brooks  would  chuckle  over  such  passages 
and  say: 

"The  lad's  all  right;  he'll  make  a  good  soldier." 
Then  invariably  finish  by  saying,  shaking  his  empty 
sleeve  spitefully :  "I  only  wish  I  was  with  him. ' ' 

He  told  them  how  Fritzie  was  always  on  the  job. 
How  he  was  sure  to  get  you  if  you  try  to  take  a  peep 
over  the  top.  And  how  it  was  almost  impossible  not  to 
look.  "They  tell  us  to  keep  our  'nappers'  down,  almost 
the  first  thing  when  we  are  sent  into  the  trenches.  But 
you  know  we  Americans  are  chuck  full  of  curiosity,  and 
I  came  pretty  near  losing  my  bean  by  peeping  over  the 
top  after  I  had  been  warned.  I  don't  try  it  any  more. 
It  is  hard  to  learn  trench  lingo.  It  is  almost  like  learn- 
ing a  new  language.  And  when  you  are  trying  to  do 

70 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

that  too,  it  gets  you  all  balled  up  occasionally.  But  the 
hardest  thing  of  all  to  get  acquainted  with  so  that  you 
feel  like  being  polite  and  asking  them  to  come  again  is 
the  '  cootie ; '  tell  Mr.  Brooks  they  called  it  a  '  body  louse ' 
when  he  fought." 

' '  You  bet  they  did, ' '  the  old  soldier  chuckled  when  he 
read  the  letter, ' '  and  lively  company  they  was,  too.  They 
sure  kept  us  scratchin'  all  right." 

Peter  wrote  of  the  raiding  parties,  how  they  got  into 
the  enemy  trenches  by  stealth,  killed  as  many  as  pos- 
sible, and  took  prisoners.  It  was  risky  work,  he  said, 
but  exciting.  So  exciting  one  forgot  the  risk.  They 
blacked  their  faces,  he  explained,  so  that  the  whiteness 
of  the  skin  would  not  show  under  the  flare  lights,  and  a 
lot  of  other  things  he  told  which  were  intensely  interest- 
ing to  those  who  had  known  him  always ;  but  to  whom  the 
war  seemed  so  remote. 

The  editor  of  the  county  newspaper  heard  of  these 
letters,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  publish  them,  clev- 
erly adding  to  his  list  of  subscribers  by  so  doing.  In 
fact,  Peter  Moore  had  become  rather  famous  in  the  little 
town  where  before  he  had  gone  "over  there"  he  had 
been  simply  "John  Moore's  son  and  a  fine  boy." 

His  mother's  heart  swelled  with  pride,  the  while  she 
shivered  with  dread  that  something  might  happen  to  her 
boy;  while  John  Moore,  even  though  he  still  claimed 
he  didn't  see  why  Peter  felt  he  must  go  and  fight  with 
the  British  and  the  French,  even  though  he  walked  a 
little  straighter,  there  had  come  a  swing  to  his  walk,  a 
squaring  of  the  shoulders  when  he  realized  that  his  boy 
had  become  a  kind  of  glorified  hero  to  the  townsfolk. 

71 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

His  letters,  after  being  read,  some  of  them  published, 
were  always  folded  carefully  between  the  leaves  of  the 
family  Bible,  and  each  night  when  the  two  lonely  ones 
prayed  for  his  safety,  they  would  read  snatches  to  each 
other,  and  talk  softly  of  their  boy,  from  whom  they  so 
anxiously  awaited  news. 

Never  a  ship  went  out  that  did  not  carry  to  that  boy 
loving  messages  and  boxes  of  sweets  he  loved,  with  other 
things  allowed  sent  to  the  soldiers.  Nothing  was  for- 
gotten by  his  mother,  nothing  overlooked  to  give  her  boy 
pleasure,  and  the  knowledge  that  they  thought  of  him 
constantly,  that  always  they  prayed  for  him. 

Peter  also  wrote  to  Bertha.  He  wrote  of  his  daily 
duties;  of  the  things  his  comrades  did  and  said.  He 
tried  to  make  his  letters  interesting  by  detailing  as 
much  of  the  camp  and  trench  gossip  as  possible.  He 
himself  cared  nothing  for  the  ordinary  gossip  of  the 
barracks  and  the  trenches,  but  he  would  listen  if  he  heard 
laughter,  so  that  he  might  have  something  to  write  Ber- 
tha; something  that  would  interest  her. 

He  told  her  about  his  food  and  what  his  rations  were. 
When  it  was  good  and  plentiful  he  would  say  so ;  when 
it  was  badly  cooked  and,  scanty  he  made  a  joke  of  it. 
But  of  his  life  in  the  trenches,  the  dangers,  his  escapes 
from  guns  and  gas  he  said  nothing.  He  never  men- 
tioned the  long  lonely  nights  in  No  Man 's  Land ;  he  said 
nothing  of  the  horrors  of  Flanders  Field.  "She's  just 
a  girl,"  he  would  say  to  himself  as  he  would  read  over 
her  last  letter  to  him,  trying  to  get  an  idea  of  what  would 
interest  her  in  his  reply. 

Her  letters  had  become  very  infrequent.  So,  too, 

72 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

they  had  grown  even  shorter,  less  interesting.  The 
longer  he  remained  away  from  her  the  more  careless  she 
became. 

"It  is  because  I  am  not  acquainted  with  anyone  she 
knows  that  she  writes  me  nothing  of  her  companions," 
is  the  way  Peter  would  excuse  the  lack  of  news. 

Beyond  the  fact  that  Bertha  was  working  in  a  smart 
millinery  shop  he  knew  nothing  of  her  or  her  environ- 
ment. He  supposed  her  working  hard  for  little  pay  so 
that  she  might  remain  in  New  York.  Although  he  had 
not  even  yet  been  able  to  understand  her  desire  to  stay 
there  with  an  aunt,  for  whom  she  cared  nothing  in 
particular  rather  than  to  return  to  Haynesville  with  her 
father  and  mother  who  loved  her  so  dearly,  and  all 
the  boys  and  girls  with  whom  she  had  grown  up.  He 
had  figured  that  it  couldn'ti  be  the  money  she  earned. 
He  knew  something  of  what  girls  were  paid  in  Haynes- 
ville ;  what  his  father  paid  those  who  worked  in  the  fac- 
tory, and  while,  of  course,  she  might  get  a  little  more, 
she  couldn't  earn  enough  to  have  even  the  comforts 
she  had  at  home,  where  she  had  always  been  so 
indulged. 

She  had  told  him  when  he  was  in  camp  that  she  wanted 
to  be  in  New  York  to  be  nearer  to  him.  Surely  that 
reason  could  not  apply  now  that  he  was  at  the  front. 
A  few  miles  made  no  difference  now.  He  did  not  men- 
tion it.  Bertha  had  written  so  decidedly  that  she  should 
stay  in  New  York  that  it  seemed  foolish  to  try  to  urge 
the  advantages  of  going  home.  So  gradually  he  said 
nothing  more  of  Haynesville  to  her  although  his  mother 
had  advised  him  to  keep  trying  to  get  his  wife  to  come 

73 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

home  with  her  own  people  where  she  too  could  occasion- 
ally see  the  girl  who  bore  her  son's  name. 

So  his  letters  were  naturally  wearisome  to  write.  Yet 
never  because  of  this  did  he  fail  to  send  them.  Often 
he  wrote  two  or  three  to  her  one,  and  if  inclined  to  criti- 
cise her  he  would  catch  himself  up  with  the  thought  that 
she  was  a  working  girl,  probably  was  standing  nearly 
all  day,  and  was  too  tired  to  write  when  night  and 
Sunday  came. 

Peter's  simple  honest  mind  never  once  grasped  the 
idea  that  Bertha  might  be  having  so  good  a  time  that 
she  begrudged  the  time  spent  writing  the  short  unsatis- 
factory scrawls  he  received.  He  would  have  rejected 
at  once  any  suggestion  that  she  was>  not  acting  as  she 
should ;  or  that  she  was  not  true  to  him  as  he  was  to  her. 
True  in  thought  as  well  as  in  deed. 

Naturally  he  would  have  liked  to  know  who  her 
friends  were,  and  he  spoke  of  it  to  her. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  me  of  your  friends,  the  girls  you 
know  ?  If  you  would  I  might  feel  a  little  bit  acquainted 
with  them,  and  so  seem  nearer  to  you." 

When  she  replied  she  said: 

"It  wouldn't  do  any  good  to  tell  you  of  the  folks  I 
know  in  New  York.  They  are  so  different  from  Haynes- 
ville  folks  you  would  not  feel  like  you  was  acquainted 
with  them  anyway.  That  was  such  a  funny  thing  for 
you  to  say.  How  could  you  feel  acquainted  with  people 
you  hadn't  ever  seen?" 

Peter  sighed  over  that  letter.  He  would  scarcely  have 
known  how  to  express  himself;  but  Bertha's  lack  of 
vision  was  what  he  could  not  understand.  Brought  up 

74 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

with  a  mother  who  never  failed  to  see,  to  feel  the  under- 
current of  his  mind,  the  trend  of  his  thoughts,  although 
she  was  without  education  save  of  the  simplest  sort, 
he  often  was  puzzled  that  Bertha  had  failed  to  compre- 
hend what  he  had  tried  to  convey. 

He  need  not  have  worried.  Bertha  scarcely  read  his 
letters.  She  ran  through  them  hurriedly,  then  stuffed 
them  into  the  top  bureau  drawer  with  ribbons,  laces  and 
gloves,  and  there  they  remained.  Unlike  those  he  sent 
to  his  mother,  they  never  were  resurrected  and  re-read, 
neither  were  they  proudly  shown  to  anyone,  not  even 
to  Aunt  Martha,  who  supposed  them  so  full  of  love- 
making  that  Bertha  felt  delicate  about  showing  them 
to  her;  but  were  tossed  over  and  over  in  the  drawer 
until  they  rested  on  the  bottom  under  the  other  articles 
and  remained  there. 

Unconsciously  Peter  had  changed.  He  was  no  longer 
a  boy.  Innumerable  things  had  gone  to  the  making 
of  the  man  he  now  was.  His  boyhood  was  a  faint,  in- 
tangible thing,  driven  far  back  into  his  memory.  The 
daily  life  of  a  soldier,  the  habit  of  discipline,  the  stern 
demands  of  the  fighting  line,  the  life  in  the  trenches, 
the  horrors  of  dead  men  lying  unburied,  the  call  upon 
all  his  forces,  had  developed  in  him  a  certain  domi- 
nance. 

The  Peter  who  had  dreamed,  who  had  stood  by  when 
life  was  turbulent  and  vivid  waiting  the  word  to  do  his 
part,  did  not  hesitate  now  when  he  had  his  chance. 
There  was  time  now  for  nothing  but  action.  Even 
thought  was  in  abeyance. 

He  was  fortunate,  too,  even  in  his  companions,  was 

75 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Peter.  They  were  fine  sturdy  fellows  all  of  them.  Some 
of  them  college  men,  others,  men  of  absolutely  no  educa- 
tion. But  they  were  clean,  clean  to  the  core.  And  some 
of  them,  like  Peter,  anxious  to  improve  themselves.  He 
was  always  stumbling  over  someone  who,  like  himself, 
was  toning  up  on  drill  regulations,  textbooks  on  infantry 
and  artillery  fire,  and  all  sorts  of  war  manuals,  one  and 
all  eager  for  promotion.  Then,  too,  he  ran  across  others 
who  were  studying  French,  a  language  in  which  he  was 
determined  to  perfect  himself.  He  would  lay  aside  his 
shyness  and  parlez  vous  with  them  whenever  he  got  a 
chance.  In  fact,  Peter  never  let  slip  an  opportunity  to 
improve  himself.  He  had  access  to  a  good  library,  and 
almost  every  moment  he  was  free  from  duty  he  spent 
browsing  over  the  books. 

He  had  done  as  his  mother  asked  and  sent  her  regu- 
larly a  list  of  what  he  was  reading.  She  kept  pace  with 
him,  so  now  they  had  another  tie,  and  they  discussed 
what  they  read,  each  helping  the  other  by  argument, 
and  expression  of  opinion. 

When  he  started  the  study  of  French,  he  laughingly 
told  his  mother  that  he  wouldn't  require  her  to  also 
study  it.  In  her  reply  she  quite  indignantly  told  him 
that  she  had  already  commenced  the  study  of  the  lan- 
guage, and  that  she  had  Heloise  Guiery,  a  French  laund- 
ress in  Haynesville,  come  and  help  her. 

He  had  suggested  to  Bertha  that  in  New  York  she 
might  easily  come  in  contact  with  some  French  girl,  and 
that  it  would  be  interesting  for  her  to  learn  to  speak 
French.  She  had  replied  that  she  was  too  busy  to  want 
to  learn  French  or  any  other  language  but  her  own. 

76 


And  Peter  had  felt  conscience  stricken  because  he  had 
mentioned  it.  Of  course,  she  was  tired. 

Peter  was  most  economical.  He  knew  that  his  father 
had  expected  part  of  his  pay  to  reimburse  him  for  the 
loss  of  his  services  in  the  factory.  He  had  religiously 
sent  Bertha  half  of  what  he  received.  So  whenever  he 
could  he  went  without  even  necessities  so  that  he  might 
send  his  father  something.  Not  that  the  little  he  could 
send  helped  much ;  but  it  showed  he  meant  to  be  square, 
so  he  told  his  mother  when  she  wrote  him  that  his  father 
did  not  expect  it  now  that  he  was  married. 

Could  he  have  known  it,  the  money  he  sent  Bertha 
hardly  kept  her  in  shoes,  so  fastidious  had  she  become. 

When  he  received  his  commission  as  sergeant,  he  wrote 
to  Bertha  immediately.  Sent  the  letter  on  the  same 
steamer  as  the  one  he  wrote  his  mother.  The  latter 
immediately  replied  in  an  epistle  so  full  of  pride,  of  joy 
that  he  was  being  recognized  for  what  he  was  even  in 
so  slight  a  way  it  brought  tears  to  Peter's  eyes. 

Weeks  afterward  he  received  a  short  note  from 
Bertha. 

"I  suppose  you  feel  very  grand  now  you  are  a  ser- 
geant," she  wrote.  ''I  don't  see  what  difference  it 
makes,  you  will  have  to  fight  just  the  same.  If  they 
had  made  you  a  lieutenant  or  major  it  might  have  been 
something  to  brag  of,  and  you  would  get  more  pay,  and 
only  boss  the  soldiers  instead  of  fighting  yourself.  But 
I  guess  you  don't  care  much  about  getting  on,"  showing 
how  little  Bertha  knew  of  the  business  of  soldiering,  how 
pitifully  little  she  knew,  Peter  Moore. 

"She's  just  a  girl,"  Peter  repeated  the  usual  ex- 

77 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

pression  after  he  had  read  the  note  which  showed  her 
ignorance  so  plainly.  An  ignorance  which  seemed  to 
him  almost  unbelievable.  Her  husband  a  soldier  and 
she  knew  nothing  of  a  soldier's  business.  He  must  try 
and  send  her  at  least  some  sort  of  a  manual  so  that  this 
fault  might  be  in  a  measure  corrected. 

This  letter  of  Bertha's  he  carefully  tore  up  and 
burned.  Something  might  happen  to  him,  and  then 
someone  might  see  it,  someone  who  would  not  know  that 
Bertha  was  just  a  girl,  and  who  might  laugh  at  her. 

In  his  next  letter  he  carefully  explained  the  rank  and 
duties  of  both  commissioned  and  non-commissioned 
officers.  He  never  knew  that  when  Bertha  saw  the  dry- 
looking  list  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  stuffed  the 
letter  into  the  drawer,  saying  to  herself  she  would  read 
it  some  other  time,  and  that  the  time  never  came.  There 
were  many  things  happening  that  Peter  Moore  knew 
nothing  about.  Many  things. 


78 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BATES  FREEMAN  had  been  very  seriously  in  earnest 
when  he  told  Bertha  he  loved  her  too  well  to  wait  longer. 
The  danger  in  which  they  had  been,  although  she  had 
escaped  injury,  had  wakened  in  him  a  new  tenderness 
for  this  working  girl,  who  had  so  strongly  resisted  him 
— and  his  millions. 

Bates  was  really  in  love — deeply  in  love  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  He  knew  people  would  say  he  had 
made  a  fool  of  himself  if  he  married  Bertha,  the  sales- 
girl, but  let  them;  let  those  who  wanted  to,  laugh.  He 
knew  what  he  wanted,  so  he  reasoned,  and  he  wanted 
Bertha  Moore.  It  surely  was  his  business  if  he  made  a 
laughing  stock  of  himself.  Such  love  as  his  only  comes 
once  in  a  lifetime,  and  he  was  not  going  to  be  cheated 
out  of  his  happiness  just  because  his  friends  thought  he 
was  marrying  beneath  him. 

There  was  one  thing  Bates  Freeman  had  not  been 
quite  able  to  understand,  and  that  was  the  difficulties 
he  had  in  the  way  of  wooing  Bertha.  Always  before, 
he  had  to  be  careful  what  he  said  to  certain  girls  whose 
society  he,  like  many  young  men  of  millions,  sought. 
They  might  take  him  up ;  sue  him  for  breach  of  promise 
or  something.  But  from  the  very  first  there  had  been 
something  in  Bertha  that  held  him  off,  and  so  piqued 

79 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

his  interest,  roused  his  jaded  curiosity,  as  well  as  his 
passions. 

That  she  liked  fun,  good  times,  he  soon  discovered. 
Also,  that  she  liked  everything  that  money  could  pro- 
cure: jewels,  good  clothes,  expensive  furs.  Yet,  while 
accepting  all  these  things  from  him,  she  had  persistently 
held  him  aloof. 

Lately  she  had  seemed  more  amenable.  More  as  if  she 
were  beginning  to  care  for  him,  yet  even  now  he  dared 
take  no  liberties  with  her  such  as  he  never  had  hesi- 
tated to  take  with  other  girls  as  a  reward  for  lavishly 
spending  his  money  on  them.  To  him  Bertha  was  a  type 
he  never  before  had  met.  Perhaps  that  added  to  his 
interest  in  her;  her  fascination  for  him.  Whatever  it 
was  it  had  grown  into  love,  and  he  was  determined  to 
make  her  his  wife. 

Bates  Freeman  always  had  been  able  to  get  what  he 
wanted.  He  had  no  idea  he  would  fail  in  this.  Up  to  the 
night  of  the  accident  the  novelty  of  the  chase  had  been 
rather  interesting.  But  now  he  wanted  things  settled. 
"He  wanted  her  promise,  and  no  long  engagement, 
either,"  he  said  to  himself  as  he  also  lay  sleepless  after 
going  from  the  doctor's  to  his  luxurious  bachelor  quar- 
ters. 

His  wrist  had  been  badly  sprained,  and  because  of  the 
long  time  which  had  elapsed  before  he  could  give  it  atten- 
tion, it  was  very  badly  swollen.  It  pained  him  a  good 
deal,  too,  so  that  it,  as  well  as  thoughts  of  Bertha  may 
have  helped  to  keep  him  wakeful. 

He  planned  to  see  her  at  noon.  To  telephone  her  he 
would  meet  her  at  luncheon  and  demand  her  answer. 

80 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

But  when  daylight  came  he  had  fallen  asleep,  and  it  was 
nearly  noon  when  his  valet  wakened  him.  His  wrist  was 
still  painful,  he  felt  disinclined  for  effort ;  so  he  clung  to 
his  original  idea.  He  would  go  up  to  her  aunt's  house 
and  talk  to  her  there  in  the  evening. 

Bertha  had  rather  expected  he  would  find  a  way  to 
meet  her  at  luncheon,  and  was  immensely  relieved  when 
he  did  not  appear.  It  gave  her  longer  to  think,  to  plan 
what  she  should  say  and  do. 

''For  heaven's  sake,  what  ails  you?"  Julia  grumbled. 
' '  I  'd  as  soon  be  with  a  dead  one.  I  '11  bet  you  and  Bates 
Freeman  had  a  row  last  night ! ' ' 

"No,  indeed,  we  didn't,"  Bertha  replied,  at  a  loss  to 
understand  the  note  of  something  very  like  alarm  in 
Julia's  voice.  That  Julia  meant  her  to  hold  Bates  be- 
cause of  the  advantage  it  was  to  her,  Julia,  Bertha  had 
dimly  sensed  several  times;  now  she  said: 

"You  seem  mighty  anxious  about  Bates  and  me, 
Julia.  Perhaps  you  think  if  we  had  a  row  you  could 
get  him  yourself." 

"Don't  be  a  fool!  Haven't  I  got  my  own  beau? 
Though  I  don 't  mind  saying  to  you  that  if  I  could  have 
caught  Bates  Freeman  myself  you'd  never  got  a 
chance  at  him,  and  I  'd  have  thrown  Claude  over.  Bates 
ain't  near  so  good-looking  as  Claude,  but  he's  got  lots 
more  dough.  And  that's  what  counts." 

"I  only  thought  you  acted  so  interested,"  Bertha 
apologized. 

"I  am  interested.  Ain't  you  my  chum,  and  I'd  be  a 
queer  sort  if  I  wasn't  interested  in  your  keeping  a  good 
thing  like  him.  Of  course,  I  have  lots  of  nice  times, 

81 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

too,  because  you  are  my  chum  and  he  in  love  with  you 
up  to  his  eyebrows.  Claude  and  me  couldn't  afford  to 
take  motor-car  rides  and  lunch  at  Sherry's  and  Del's, 
the  way  we  do  when  we  are  with  you  and  Freeman. ' ' 

"But  it  can't  go  on  forever,"  Bertha  said,  trying 
Julia  out.  She  wanted  to  hear  what  she  would  say ;  yet 
she  was  determined  not  to  tell  her  about  Bates'  last 
proposal. 

"You're  a  fool  if  you  let  him  go." 

"Peter  may  come  back." 

"Nonsense;  he's  bound  to  be  shot.  Anyway,  he'll 
not  be  back  for  years." 

"I  am  afraid  I  can't  put  Bates  off  much  longer." 

"Don't  be  so  squeamish.  Promise  to  marry  him 
when  you  can 't  keep  him  any  other  way.  Promises  never 
killed  anybody. ' ' 

Bertha  remembered,  as  she  listened  to  Julia's  advice, 
that  the  same  idea  had  crossed  her  mind  as  she  lay 
awake  thinking  of  what  she  could  do;  what  she  should 
tell  Bates.  As  Julia  had  said,  a  promise  wouldn't  hurt 
her,  and  perhaps  by  the  time — when  she  reached  this 
point  in  her  thoughts  she  halted  them.  While  she  was 
foolish,  Bertha  wasn't  really  either  wicked,  or  willfully 
heartless.  To  wish  Peter  dead  was  going  too  far. 

But  there  had  come  another,  perhaps  a  more  danger- 
ous, element  into  her  friendship  for  Bates  Freeman. 
She  had  begun  to  care  for  him,  even  more  than  for  his 
gifts.  At  first  she  had  felt  no  stirrings  of  love  when  he 
declared  his  feeling  for  her;  she  had  laughed  away 
her  embarrassment,  and  his  love-making.  But  the  new 
tenderness  which  had  crept  into  his  treatment  toward 

82 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

her,  the  sincerity  of  his  manner,  and  lastly  his  real 
anxiety  had  wakened  in  her  a  responsiveness  never  before 
given  him. 

Bertha  had  never  been  wooed.  Peter's  courtship  had 
been  a  passive  affair,  managed  from  the  beginning  by 
Bertha  herself.  The  whirlwind  marriage,  never  thought 
of  until  she  had  thrown  herself  into  his  arms;  the  sud- 
den leave-taking,  all  had  been  gone  through  without 
any  of  the  love-making,  the  wooing,  that  usually  make 
for  and  accompany  the  situation. 

That  Bertha  felt  little  responsibility  toward  Peter 
is,  considering  her  disposition,  not  to  be  wondered  at. 
He  was  somewhere  abroad,  fighting  with  the  allied 
nations.  Bates  was  here  at  home  with  her,  loading  her 
with  flowers  and  gifts,  making  life  easy  for  her,  and  at' 
the  same  time  wooing  her  with  an  intensity,  a  tenderness 
she  never  before  had  experienced. 

All  the  afternoon  as  she  sold  and  tried  on  hats,  Julia 's 
advice  so  in  line  with  her  thought  of  the  night  before 
kept  recurring  to  her : 

"Promise  to  marry  him  when  you  can't  keep  him  any 
other  way.  Promises  never  killed  anybody. ' ' 

Then,  too,  something  might  happen.  What,  she  would 
not  allow  herself  to  think.  But  something  that  would 
make  it  possible  for  her  to  some  day  keep  her  promise 
to  Bates.  In  the  meantime  she  would  have  her  lover, 
and  also  all  the  luxuries  which  now  seemed  to  her 
indispensable. 

But  other  thoughts  came  also.  Suppose  Bates  insisted 
upon  being  married  at  once.  Suppose  her  excuses  would 
no  longer  avail.  What  should  she  do  then  ?  She  turned 

83 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 


first  hot  and  then  cold  as  she  thought  that  then  she  would 
lose  him.  Intuitively  she  felt  that  she  could  no  longer 
keep  him  dangling  after  her  unless  she  married  him  if 
he  so  determined.  She  had  no  real  excuse  to  urge.  She 
had  frankly  told  him  she  would  not  return  to  Haynes- 
ville  to  live ;  had  also  told  him  much  of  the  poverty  of 
her  people.  She  was  practically  alone  in  the  world  be- 
cause of  her  decision  to  remain  in  New  York — or  so  Bates 
Freeman  thought.  What  good  excuse  could  she  give  for 
postponing  the  marriage  once  she  had  agreed  to  marry 
him? 

At  times  she  thought  no  day  ever  passed  so  slowly; 
at  others  she  wished  she  could  stay  the  time.  She  would 
have  to  give  him  his  answer  when  he  came  that  night, 
and  as  yet  she  had  no  answer  ready. 

Julia  watched  her  keenly  all  the  afternoon.  She  was 
sure  that  something  had  happened;  she  feared  some- 
thing inimical  to  her  plans;  her  plans  for  feathering 
her  own  nest  through  Bertha's  friendship  for  the  mil- 
lionaire; his  infatuation  for  her.  But  Julia  was  cau- 
tious. She  would  not  appear  to  notice,  and  would  offer 
to  go  home  with  Bertha.  She  had  done  so  several  times, 
so  Bertha  would  think  nothing  strange. 

"If  you  haven't  any  engagement,  and  will  invite  me, 
I  '11  go  home  with  you  to-night, ' '  she  said  to  Bertha  dur- 
ing a  lull  in  business. 

"I  am  sorry,  Julia,  but  Bates  is  coming  up.  Maybe 
we  will  go  somewhere,"  she  added,  fearing  Julia  might 
insist. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  I  can  come  any  time,"  Julia 
replied,  relieved  that  she  had  been  wrong  in  her  suspi- 

84 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

cions.  Surely  if  they  had  quarreled  he  wouldn't  be 
going  up  to  the  house  to  see  Bertha,  something  she  sel- 
dom allowed.  Her  aunt's  plain  home  still  made  her  feel 
embarrassed  before  her  millionaire  lover.  "I  thought 
you  was  kidding  me,  Bertha,  and  that  you  had  quarreled 
with  Bates." 

"No,  we  haven't  quarreled,"  Bertha  said  wearily. 
Her  lack  of  sleep  added  to  her  worrying  thoughts  had 
tired  her. 

Even  her  aunt  noticed  when  she  reached  home  that 
she  did  not  look  well,  and  made  an  extra  dish  of  toast 
for  her.  Bertha  tried  to  eat  it  to  please  her,  but  she  had 
no  appetite. 

A  little  after  eight  Bates  arrived.  He  had  a  box  of 
orchids  for  her,  and,  taking  her  in  his  arms,  he  said: 

"Dearest,  I  have  come  for  my  answer.  I  am  not 
going  to  leave  you  until  you  tell  me  when  you  will  be 
my  wife,"  and  he  kissed  her  again,  before  he  let  her 
go. 

That  word  "when"  had  sent  shivers  over  Bertha. 
He  had  not  said  if,  but  "when."  That  meant  she  must 
decide  now,  at  once.  As  she  led  the  way  into  Aunt 
Martha's  parlor  she  grew  hot,  then  cold,  at  the  thought 
of  what  was  before  her;  what  it  meant  to  her. 

Bertha  fussed  over  the  orchids,  refusing  to  pin  them 
on  because  Bates  would  crush  them.  His  embraces  were 
almost  rough — so  Bertha  said — so  gaining  an  apology 
and  a  tenderness  hard  to  resist.  She  found  a  vase  and 
insisted  upon  putting  them  in  water. 

"I'll  have  them  to  wear  to-morrow." 

"There  are  more  where  those  came  from.  I'll  send 

85 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

you  another  bunch,"  he  replied,  loath  to  have  her  leave 
him. 

"You  are  an  extravagant  boy,"  Bertha  had  declared, 
and  unheeding  his  protest  that  he  couldn't  spend  his 
money  if  he  tried,  she  filled  the  vase  and  then  set  it  upon 
the  table  in  the  parlor  along  with  the  wax  flowers  cov- 
ered with  a  glass  dome,  sole  memento  of  the  child  Aunt 
Martha  had  lost  in  its  infancy. 

There,  as  much  out  of  place  as  was  their  giver,  in  the 
shabby  little  parlor,  they  stood  while  Bates  again  told 
Bertha  of  his  love,  and  refused  to  let  her  from  his  arms 
until  he  had  his  answer.  And  it  was  always  "when?" 

"But  I  haven't  said  that  I  would  marry  you,"  Bertha 
said  coyly,  sparring  for  time. 

"But  you  are  going  to,  sweetheart,  and  very  soon.  I 
have  been  very  patient,  Bertha  dear,  but  I  shall  be 
patient  no  longer.  Tell  me  when  you  will  marry  me, 
dear?" 

"But  your  people — they  will " 

"I  have  no  people  who  can  say  anything — anything 
for  which  I  care.  As  you  know  I  have  lost  father  and 
mother,  both.  My  brother,  the  only  near  relative  I  have, 
has  no  control  of  either  me  or  my  money.  You  are  alone, 
too,  dearest.  Why  not  marry  me  next  week?" 

Bertha  drew  in  a  sharp  breath.  Next  week!  Why 
she  hadn  't  figured  upon  such  short  notice  even  when  she 
thought  of  the  very  worst  that  could  happen. 

"Oh,  I  couldn't !" 

"Why  not?  All  that  nonsense  about  getting  ready 
buying  clothes,  etc.,  you  can  dispense  with.  We  won't 
have  a  society  wedding,  you  know ;  just  the  parson  and  a 

86 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

couple  of  friends.  Then  you  can  buy  anything  you 
need  or  want  afterward.  Here,  give  me  your  hand." 

Taking  her  hand  he  slipped  a  wonderful  diamond  ring 
over  her  finger.  Once  more  she  drew  a  quick  breath, 
this  time  of  delight  at  the  beauty  of  the  ring;  her  en- 
gagement ring.  That  was  what  he  called  it.  She  had 
been  given  no  engagement  ring  by  Peter,  just  the  plain 
narrow  gold  band  he  had  slipped  over  her  finger  the 
day  they  were  so  hurriedly  married  down  at  the  license 
bureau  and  which  she  had  never  since  worn.  This  flash- 
ing gem  represented  not  only  the  generosity  and  the 
wealth  of  the  giver,  but  the  romance  she  had  missed. 
That  was  what  lured  Bertha — the  romance.  She  had 
been  accustomed  to  expensive  gifts  from  Bates,  but  this 
was  different;  it  meant  something. 

And  Bates  watching  her  felt  his  cause  won. 

"When,  dear?"  he  asked  as  again  he  took  her  into 
his  arms. 

"Didn't  I  tell  you  I  had  not  promised  to — ever?"  she 
asked,  trying  to  speak  with  her  old  saucy  manner  and 
failing  utterly,  as  she  drew  away  from  him.  "Honestly, 
Bates,  I  don't  want  to  get  married.  Why  can't  we  go 
on  as  we  are?" 

"Because  we — I  can't!  I  will  not.  You  belong  to 
me.  You  must  not  keep  me  waiting  longer  for  what 
already  is  my  own." 

"But,  Bates,  I  am  happy  now — aren't  you?  So  many 
people  aren't  so  happy  after  they  get  married.  Don't 
let  us  be  in  a  hurry."  The  words  seemed  to  come  of 
their  own  volition.  She  had  not  realized  until  after 
they  were  uttered  that  she  had,  by  saying  what  she  had, 

87 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

virtually  promised  to  marry  him.  Well,  let  it  go !  She 
would  see  what  he  said.  Perhaps  she  could  coax  him 
to  wait. 

"If  that  is  your  reason,  we'll  get  married  to-night!" 
he  laughed  gleefully.  "Why,  dear,  I  never  really  cared 
for  any  other  girl— not  like  I  care  for  you!  I'll  make 
you  happy.  I  couldn't  help  it.  Come,  dear,  tell  me 
when,  and  make  it  soon." 

"I  should  think  you  might  be  satisfied  with  one  thing 
at  a  time.  If  I  have  promised  to  marry  you  to-night, 
you  might  wait  until  to-morrow  at  least  before  making 
me  tell  you  just  what  day." 

"All  right,  I'll  wait  until  to-morrow,  but  not  another 
minute,  mind  you.  Now  thank  me  prettily  for  giving 
in  to  you,  and  make  up  your  mind  to  tell  me  to-morrow 
that  you  will  marry  me  next  week,"  he  said,  paying 
no  attention  to  her  little  joke,  as  she  had  meant  it  when 
she  said  to-morrow. 

Bertha  sighed  with  relief.  Even  twenty-four  hours 
more  might  give  her  time  to  concoct  some  schemes 
whereby  she  could  keep  Bates  a  lover  without  either 
marrying  him  or  compromising  herself.  Never  for  one 
moment  had  she  considered  the  latter  course.  Her 
healthy,  sane  bringing  up  would  have  made  such  a  course 
revolting  to  her. 

When  Bates  bade  her  good-night  an  hour  later  his  last 
words  were: 

"Remember,  you  are  to  tell  me  to-morrow." 

Bertha  went  to  her  room  immediately  Bates  left.  She 
refused  to  stop  and  talk  to  her  aunt,  though  she 
hurt  that  good  lady's  feelings  by  so  doing.  She  stood 

88 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

before  her  bureau,  turning  and  twisting  the  beautiful 
solitaire  Bates  had  put  on  her  finger.  She  was  a  married 
woman,  and  she  had  just  become  engaged  to  another* 
man. 

For  the  first  time  since  she  had  known  Bates  Freeman 
she  hunted  around  among  the  ribbons  and  laces  until 
she  found  one  of  Peter's  letters.  Perhaps,  unfortu- 
nately, or  was  it  a  trick  of  fate,  she  found  the  one  which 
she  had  never  finished  reading ;  the  one  in  which  he  had 
told  her  of  the  duties  of  an  officer,  and  had  tried  to  cor- 
rect her  ignorance  of  army  matters.  She  compelled  her- 
self to  read  it,  every  word.  It  was  dry,  prosy.  She  had 
not  enjoyed  the  reading.  Then  she  found  the  last  note 
she  had  received  from  Bates.  He  had  made  a  short 
business  trip  to  Chicago,  and  had  written  her  twice  a 
day  while  he  was  away.  The  note,  although  short, 
breathed  his  love  for  her  in  every  line.  To  compare  the 
two  was  out  of  the  question.  There  was  no  parallel1 
between  Peter's  dry  lesson  in  army  tactics  and  the  red- 
blooded  love  letter  of  Bates  Freeman.  Peter's  letter 
Bertha  thrust  back  into  the  drawer,  while  after  reading 
Bates'  the  second  time  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips  before 
she  carefully  put  it  away  in  the  box  where  she  kept  all 
her  treasures  under  lock  and  key ;  away  from  the  prying 
eyes  of  Aunt  Martha. 

That  night  also  she  had  little  sleep,  and  was  disturbed 
by  dreams,  but  her  dreams  were  all  of  Peter.  She  saw 
him  fighting.  She  saw  him  lying  dead.  But  it  was 
always  her  he  was  fighting,  and  she  who  had  killed  him. 
It  was  queer  that  Peter  should  be  in  his  uniform  fighting 
her.  Men  in  uniform  fought  other  soldiers.  And  how 

89 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

had  she  killed  him?     She  had  nothing  to  fight  with. 

She  awoke  several  times  only  to  dream  again  of  Peter 
when  she  slept.  Finally  she  got  up  and  slipping  on  a 
kimona  sat  by  the  window.  It  was  better  to  lose 
her  sleep  than  to  go  on  dreaming  such  horrid 
things. 

She  hadn't  answered  Peter's  last  letter;  in  truth  he 
had  written  twice  since  she  had  sent  him  a  single  line. 
To  ease  her  conscience  she  found  paper  and  ink  and 
wrote  him.  Just  a  short  commonplace  little  note,  as 
usual.  But  after  it  was  written  she  felt  better.  Then 
she  found  a  ribbon  and  hung  her  ring,  her  engagement 
ring,  around  her  neck.  It  would  not  do  to  let  Julia 
see  it.  Aunt  Martha  would  believe  anything  she  might 
tell  her;  but  Julia  was  different.  It  wasn't  easy  to  fool 
her. 

Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  talk  things  over  with 
Julia.  She  was  sure  she  never  could  find  a  way  out  of 
the  tangle  alone — not  a  way  she  would  want  to  take. 
Julia,  no  matter  what  her  failings  were,  was  smart.  No 
one  could  deny  that!  Smart  and  clever.  She  was  sly, 
too,  but  one  had  to  be  sometimes. 

To  her  aunt  she  said : 

"I  may  bring  Julia  home  with  me  to-night." 

"Yes,  do!  she  hasn't  been  up  in  a  long  time,"  Mrs. 
Robinson  replied.  She  liked  Julia,  was  always  pleased 
when  Bertha  brought  her  up  to  spend  the  night.  Julia 
was  rather  a  gossip,  and  she  flattered  Aunt  Martha. 
She,  too,  liked  to  hear  about  Bertha  and  her  people  in 
Haynesville.  Who  could  tell  but  that  some  day  the 
knowledge  so  gained  might  not  be  of  use? 

90 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"I'm  not  sure,  so  don't  do  anything  extra.  What's 
good  enough  for  us  is  good  enough  for  her,  any- 
way. ' ' 

Ever  since  Bertha  had  been  getting  good  wages  she 
had  paid  her  aunt  a  reasonable  sum  for  her  board  and 
room.  Often  since  Bates  Freeman  had  been  so  generous 
with  her  she  had  paid  extra,  or  given  Mrs.  Robinson  a 
gift  of  clothing.  She  really  felt  that  she  more  than  paid 
her  way,  so  did  not  scruple  to  ask  Julia  to  spend  the 
night  occasionally.  But  she  was  sorry  she  had  men- 
tioned that  she  might  invite  her.  Aunt  Martha  was  sure 
to  spend  the  day  fussing  and  baking,  and  perhaps  she 
would  change  her  mind  after  all  and  not  tell  Julia 
anything,  or  ask  her  home  with  her. 

She  was  early  at  the  shop,  but  early  as  she  was  she 
found  a  note  from  Bates. 

"I  am  called  out  of  town.  Back  in  a  couple  of  days. 
Remember  I  shall  expect  a  decided  answer  the  minute  I 
see  you. ' '  Then  followed  a  tender  bit  of  love  talk,  and  a 
caution  not  to  work  too  hard.  "I  shall  be  glad  to  get 
you  away  from  that  shop.  We  will  take  a  long  trip  some- 
where and  stay  away  until  you  are  rested.  You  looked 
tired  last  night,  dear,  and  I  felt  guilty  that  I  had  not 
insisted  that  you  remain  at  home  to-day.  Please  take 
care  of  yourself  for  my  sake." 

A  respite.  Instead  of  one  day  she  would  have  three. 
She  would  not  ask  Julia  to  go  home  with  her;  instead 
she  would  go  home  early  and  go  directly  to  bed.  She, 
would  try  not  to  think  of  Bates  or — Peter.  She  was 
astonished  that  Peter  should  intrude  upon  her  thoughts. 
He  never  did.  It  must  be  because  she  had  dreamed  of 

91 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

him  the  night  before.    She  hoped  she  never  again  would 
be  so  disturbed. 

Bertha  did  as  she  had  planned.  She  asked  permission 
to  leave  the  shop  early.  She  went  directly  home  and 
immediately  to  bed.  Determinedly  she  put  all  thought 
from  her  mind.  She  had  two  days'  grace,  and  now  she 
needed  sleep  more  than  anything  else. 

The  following  morning  she  received  a  letter  from 
Peter.  She  tore  it  open,  glanced  quickly  at  its  contents, 
then  slipped  it  back  into  the  envelope. 

''How's  Peter?"  her  aunt  asked. 

"All  right.  He  says  he's  a  second  lieutenant.  He's 
going  to  get  more  pay." 

" That's  fine!  Peter '11  get  on.  You  ought  to  be 
proud  of  him,  Bertha." 

"What  does  he  say  about  the  fighting,  anything?" 
her  uncle  asked. 

"Nothing  much,  just  says  he  keeps  busy,"  Bertha 
returned,  consulting  the  letter. 

"Your  aunt's  right!  You  ought  to  be  proud  to  be 
married  to  such  a  fine  fellow.  Think  of  him  being  a 
lieutenant  already.  Why  that  shows  what  they  think 
of  him  over  there." 

' '  I  don 't  see  as  it  makes  any  difference  to  me, ' '  Bertha 
yawned.  She  had  slept  heavily ;  she  was  as  yet  scarcely 
awake. 

"You  say  he's  going  to  send  you  more  money?"  her 
aunt  inquired.  Mrs.  Robinson  was  a  thrifty  soul,  and 
Bertha's  extravagant  ways,  her  fine  clothes,  worried 
her  not  a  little. 

"Yes,  so  he  says." 

92 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"You  don't  need  any  more.  Why  don't  you  save  all 
he  sends  you?  You  earn  enough  yourself  to  live  on. 
Does  he  send  his  folks  anything?" 

"I  suppose  so.  I  don't  know.  I  don't  see  why  he 
should.  His  father  has  a  factory,  you  know." 

"Well,  you  are  a  funny  girl.  Most  girls  would  be 
wild  over  such  news,  and  you  don't  seem  to  care  any- 
thing about  it.  He'll  be  a  fine  looking  officer.  He 
looked  so  good  in  his  uniform  that  he's  sure  to  look 
even  better  as  an  officer."  Mrs.  Robinson  trailed  on, 
eager  to  talk  of  Peter,  and  yet  discouraged  by  Bertha's 
lack  of  interest.  "You  haven't  half  read  your  letter. 
It  is  early.  You'll  have  plenty  of  time  to  read  it 
before  you  go." 

Bertha  picked  up  the  letter  and  sipping  a  second 
cup  of  coffee  she  read  it  through.  It  was  not  a  long 
letter ;  really  there  was  very  little  in  it.  Peter  feared 
she  was  ill,  he  had  not  heard  in  so  long.  Of  course,  her 
letter  of  the  night  before  might  be  weeks  in  reaching 
him.  He  urged  her  once  more  to  give  up  her  position 
and  go  back  to  Haynesville.  "I  earn  enough  now,"  he 
said,  "so  that  you  can  have  the  pretty  things  you  want 
without  working  in  that  store.  Go  home,  Bertha,  and 
help  your  mother,  and  be  a  comfort  to  your  folks  and 
mine.  They  are  lonely.  I  know  from  my  mother's 
letters.  She  says  your  father  and  mother  have  grown 
old,  and  seem  so  sad.  You  know  they  loved  you 
very  dearly,  and  they  are  all  alone.  I  will  send  you 
every  cent  I  can  spare.  I  spend  hardly  anything  save 
for  tobacco;  that  I  must  have.  I  don't  think  a  soldier 
can  get  along  without  that."  Bertha  read  about  the 

93 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

tobacco  to  her  aunt  and  uncle,  but  she  skipped  what 
Peter  had  said  concerning  her  going  home. 

"That's  right!"  her  uncle  declared.  "Soldiers  de- 
pend on  their  smokes  to  cheer  them  up.  We  must  send 
the  lad  tobacco;  a  lot  of  it  in  the  next  box  you  send, 
Bertha;  good  American  smokes." 

Bertha  went  on  reading:  "I  wish  I  might  run  in  and 
see  you,  Bertha;  talk  to  you;  let  you  know  just  how  I 
feel  about  things — this  war  and  all.  We  hear  all  sorts 
of  rumors  over  here  about  the  United  States  coming  in, 
so  far  they  seem  to  be  just  rumors.  But  it  is  a  great 
fight,  a  just  fight,  and  because  it  is  just  we  shall  win  it. 
It  may  take  years,  but  the  French  and  the  British  will 
never  give  in  as  long  as  they  have  a  man  who  can  carry 
a  gun. 

"There  are  quite  a  number  of  boys  from  the  States 
with  us.  I  talk  to  them  occasionally.  It  seems  good 
to  hear  good  old  United  States  talk.  They  are  fine  fel- 
lows, these  Americans  who  are  fighting  with  the  Allies, 
fighting  for  a  principle.  They  are  brave  men,  too.  One 
of  them  was  killed  yesterday.  I  was  so  near  him  I  was 
a  bit  stunned  myself.  Before  he  died  he  gave  me  his 
mother's  address  and  that  of  his  sweetheart.  He  had 
letters  written  ready  to  be  sent  to  both  of  them  in  case 
of  accident.  He  died  bravely.  I  hope  if  I  am  taken  I 
shall  die  as  gallantly. 

"This  isn't  a  very  bright  letter,  Bertha,  but  somehow 
I  feel  rather  sad  and  depressed.  I  guess  it  is  because 
my  letters  have  been  delayed.  I  look  for  them  very 
anxiously.  They  are  like  a  bit  of  home  to  me.  Remember 
me  to  your  aunt  and  uncle.  I  hope  to  hear  from  you 

94 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

soon  and  that  you  have  decided  to  go  back  to  Haynes- 
ville.  It  would  make  me  quite  happy  if  you  would. 
With  love,  PETER." 

Bertha  read  aloud  that  part  which  had  to  do  with  the 
death  of  the  soldier  and  Peter's  remembrances  to  her 
aunt  and  uncle.  But  she  skipped  all  that  referred  to  her 
leaving  New  York  or  had  to  do  with  the  people  back 
home. 


95 


CHAPTER  IX 

PETER'S  letter  both  annoyed  and  cheered  Bertha.  She 
was  annoyed  that  he  should  start  that  talk  about  her 
going  home  again.  She  had  supposed  he  understood 
that  no  matter  what  happened  she  would  not  go  back 
to  Haynesville.  How  silly  he  was  to  think  just  because 
he  had  a  few  dollars  more  pay  she  would  give  up  her 
position,  her  friends,  her  good  times  and — Bates  Free- 
man, and  go  back  to  that  stuffy  country  town,  where  the 
only  excitement  was  a  fair  or  a  church  social  occasion- 
ally. No,  indeed.  Her  hand  went  to  her  bosom  and  she 
felt  the  ring  on  the  ribbon,  the  ring  which  had  cost 
what  Peter's  pay  as  second  lieutenant  would  amount  to 
in  a  year. 

He  wanted  her  to  go  back  and  wash  dishes  in  her 
mother's  kitchen,  to  go  and  sit  and  talk  to  his  mother 
while  she  knitted  socks  and  sweaters  for  him  and  his 
comrades.  Bertha's  mother  had  written  her  that  Mrs. 
Moore 's  hands  were  never  idle ;  that  she  knit  constantly. 
What  good  would  a  little  more  money  and  all  her  pretty 
clothes  do  her  if  she  were  to  bury  herself  alive  in 
Haynesville?  She  would  tell  him  once  more  that  she 
intended  to  remain  in  New  York;  tell  him  so  that  he 
would  understand  it.  She  was  tired  of  his  talking  of 

96 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Haynesville,  of  her  duty  to  her  people  and  his.     She 
knew  her  own  business  and  would  attend  to  it. 

She  would  send  him  a  box ;  that  always  salved  her  con- 
science in  a  way,  and  plenty  of  good  smokes,  as  her 
uncle  called  the  tobacco.  She  didn't  really  need  his 
money,  but  she  couldn't  say  so,  or  he  might  get  suspi- 
cious that  someone  was  doing  things  for  her.  She  knew, 
too,  that  Peter  probably  had  not  the  faintest  idea  how 
much  she  earned,  that  her  salary  was  greater  than  his 
pay  even  now  that  he  was  a  commissioned  officer;  that 
she  was  worth  even  more  than  she  was  getting.  Sales- 
women who  could  dispose  of  the  amount  of  goods  she 
did  were  born,  not  made. 

In  her  infrequent  letters  to  Peter  she  never  had  given 
him  the  slightest  inkling  as  to  what  she  earned.  The 
only  time  she  had  mentioned  money  to  him  was  when 
she  had  her  first  advance  at  the  store,  then  she  had 
written  that  she  had  been  promoted  and  was  paying 
her  aunt  for  her  board  and  room.  Peter  had  hinted 
that  she  might  be  a  burden  on  them  in  his  efforts  to  get 
her  to  go  home. 

But  if  what  Peter  said  about  her  going  home  annoyed 
Bertha,  there  was  one  sentence  in  his  letter  that  did 
not  annoy  her  and  which  she  could  not  dismiss  from 
her  mind.  All  the  way  down  in  the  crowded  subway, 
all  the  morning  while  she  sold  hats  it  ran  insistently 
through  her  mind  and  colored  all  her  thoughts.  He 
had  said: 

"It  may  take  years  to  win  the  fight,  but  the  French 
and  the  British  will  not  give  in  as  long  as  they  have  a 
man  to  carry  a  gun. ' ' 

97 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Peter  had  enlisted  with  them;  he  would  stay  with 
them,  fight  with  them  until  the  end.  Of  that  Bertha  was 
sure.  While  she  never  had  appreciated  him,  his  strength 
of  character,  she  knew  something  of  his  determination. 
He  would  never  turn  back.  And  he  had  said  the  war 
might  last  for  years. 

Was  her  life  to  be  ruined,  was  she  to  moon  along 
without  love  and  a  home  of  her  own  just  because  Peter 
chose  to  fight  with  a  lot  of  foreigners?  Because  he 
fought  their  battles?  It  wasn't  fair.  What  did  he 
marry  her  for  if  he  intended  to  stay  away  for  years? 
Yet  as  she  asked  the  question  she  knew  she  did  not  wish 
him  back.  She  also  knew  he  never  would  have  married 
her  had  she  not  made  it  almost  impossible  for  him,  with 
his  chivalrous  ideas,  to  go  away  without  doing  so.  But 
it  pleased  her  mood  to  throw  blame  on  someone  and  so 
take  it  from  herself. 

' '  It  may  take  years. ' ' 

She  could  almost  hear  Peter  saying  it  as  she  advised 
one  customer  to  take  a  hat  trimmed  with  a  certain  shade 
of  blue  because  it  matched  her  eyes. 

' '  It  may  take  years. ' ' 

She  almost  heard  Peter's  vibrant,  earnest  young  voice 
say  it  as  she  fitted  a  mourning  bonnet  on  the  pale  golden 
hair  of  a  young  widow. 

"It  may  take  years." 

She  almost  persuaded  herself  that  Peter  knew  it 
would  be  years  and  that  she  heard  him  warning  her  to 
be  prepared  for  his  long  absence  as  she  laid  a  jaunty 
pink-flowered  hat  upon  the  head  of  a  young  girl. 

"It  may  take  years." 

98 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

The  words,  accented  by  a  certain  sadness  in  Peter's 
voice,  rang  clearly  in  her  ears  as  she  deftly  fitted  a  bridal 
veil  and  wreath  of  orange  blossoms  upon  the  head  of  a 
happy,  blushing  girl  who,  on  the  morrow  was  to  marry 
the  man  she  loved. 

Her  hand  went  up  to  her  neck.  The  ring,  her  en- 
gagement ring,  held  clasped  in  the  fold  of  her  waist, 
she  murmured  to  herself: 

' '  It  may  be  years. ' ' 

When  Peter  wrote  to  Bertha  that  the  war  might  last 
for  years  he  was  persuaded  that  it  would.  In  fact, 
that  was  one  reason  he  urged  her  so  strenuously  to  go 
home  to  Haynesville  with  those  who  loved  her.  In  a 
way  Peter  had  a  guilty  feeling  about  Bertha,  not  that 
he  had  married  her  because  she  had  chosen  that  he 
should,  but  that  he  had  left  her  alone  in  the  big  city 
instead  of  insisting  that  she  go  home  at  once.  He  had 
not  the  slightest  idea  that  even  then  she  would  not 
have  obeyed  him;  that  she  had  wanted  to  marry  him 
partly  to  give  her  a  reason,  an  excuse,  to  remain  in  New 
York;  that  the  town's  glamor  had  already  seized  upon 
her.  When  he  thought  of  her  stubbornness  in  remaining 
he  always  laid  it  partly  to  the  fact  that  she  was  earning 
money  and  that,  as  a  married  woman,  she  felt  more 
independent  than  if  she  were  at  home  simply  helping 
her  mother.  So  now  that  he  had  his  lieutenant 's  pay  he 
saw  no  possible  reason  why  she  shouldn't  go  home,  and 
had  written  her  accordingly,  impressing  the  loneliness 
of  her  parents  upon  her  as  an  added  reason. 

Peter  was  very  busy.  He  had  not  won  his  commission 
by  loafing.  After  he  sent  his  letter  off  to  Bertha  he 

99 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

felt  an  immense  relief.  Her  staying  in  New  York  had 
worried  him.  Now  that  she  knew  she  was  to  have  more 
money  she  would,  of  course,  go  home  at  once.  He  smiled 
happily  as  he  thought  that  most  likely  her  reply  would  be 
postmarked  Haynesville. 

Then,  too,  Peter  had  other  reasons  for  wanting  Bertha 
to  go  home.  She  would  have  more  time  to  write,  more 
time  to  read  and  study.  He  intended  to  ask  his  mother 
to  get  Bertha  to  read  with  her  those  books  he  was  read- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  the  world.  He  longed  inex- 
pressibly for  her,  his  wife,  to  have  the  interests  which 
had  come  to  him.  He  yearned  to  be  able  to  write  her 
as  he  did  his  mother ;  of  his  thoughts,  his  aspirations,  his 
inmost  feelings  and  emotions.  It  seemed  almost  unnat- 
ural not  to. 

One  other  thing  Peter  hoped  for  Bertha  if  she  returned 
to  Haynesville.  He  hoped  that  his  mother's  influence 
would  make  Bertha  find  out,  understand  the  things  which 
made  his  mother  what  she  was — so  much  worth  while. 
That  through  her  Bertha  might  have  vision,  might  be- 
come such  a  woman  as  she  was,  so  that  if  he  were  spared 
and  they  had  children  they  would  respect  and  love  her  as 
he  loved  his  mother. 

Whenever  Peter  thought  of  returning  to  America,  to 
Bertha,  he  had,  unconsciously  almost,  the  thought  of 
home  and  children  in  his  mind.  Bertha  would  have 
been  astounded  could  she  have  known  his  dreams:  to 
take  over  the  factory  and  so  relieve  his  father;  to  own 
a  cottage  near  so  that  he  could  see  his  mother  every  day ; 
to  have  her,  Bertha,  his  wife,  keep  it  neat  and  tidy  for 
him^and  to  have  children  run  to  meet  him  when  his 

100 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

day's  work  was  done.  Those  had  been  the  dreams  of 
the  man  of  whom  his  comrades  said : 

"Moore  fights  like  a  demon." 

Surely  peaceful  dreams  for  a  fighting  man. 

Fortunately  for  Peter's  peace  of  mind,  Bertha  knew 
nothing  of  the  young  soldier's  dreams.  Had  she,  she 
might  have  dissipated  them  by  telling  him  the  truth  in 
so  brutal  a  manner  as  to  take  from  him  even  that  com- 
fort. It  was  also  fortunate  for  Bertha's  peace  of  mind 
that  she  knew  nothing  of  Peter's  plans  and  hopes.  Not 
that  it  would  have  affected  her  as  it  did  Peter;  but  it 
might  have  rushed  her  into  doing  things  over  which  she 
now  hesitated.  Such  a  plan  would  not  have  fitted  into 
her  scheme  of  things,  of  life — her  life. 

If  Bertha  ever  seriously  had  thought  of  what  they 
would  do  should  Peter  return  it  was  in  the  first  days  of 
his  absence,  before  she  met  Bates  Freeman ;  or,  perhaps, 
it  would  be  better  to  say  before  she  made  a  confidante  of 
Julia  Lawrence.  But  even  then  her  plans  would  have 
been  antipodal  to  his.  She  would  have  planned  a  flat 
in  New  York.  Four  or  five  rooms  in  a  building  with  a 
gaudy  entrance  and  an  elevator.  Peter  was  bright,  he 
could  easily  find  something  to  do.  He  could  be  a  clerk 
or  a  floorwalker,  something  where  he  could  wear  good 
clothes  which  would  show  his  figure.  She  would  keep 
her  job  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  shop  and  between  them 
they  would  get  along  fine. 

No  thought  of  father  or  mother  or  children  entered 
into  her  plans.  Haynesville  was  hateful  to  her,  even  the 
thought  of  the  stupid  town  nauseated  her.  While  she 
would  have  declared,  if  asked,  that  she  loved  her  father 

101 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

and  mother,  yet  no  tender  thoughts  of  home  or  of  them 
ever  disturbed  her  mind.  As  for  Peter's  parents,  why 
they  were  really  no  more  or  less  to  her  than  they  always 
had  been.  His  mother  was  too  sad,  too  much  given  to 
reading  and  to  charity  to  have  time  for  anything  else; 
while  his  father  was  just  like  all  the  other  men  in 
Haynesville. 

But  it  had  been  a  long  time  since  Bertha  had  thought 
of  the  flat  with  the  gaudy  entrance.  Her  taste  had  been 
educated  since  then.  Now  she  understood  the  difference 
between  the  quiet  elegance  of  some  buildings,  and  the 
cheap  imitation  of  others.  Just  as  she  understood  the 
difference  between  the  men  she  now  went  with,  and  the 
dlerk  or  floorwalker  she  had  thought  Peter  might  be- 
come. 

Now  Bertha's  dreams  were  more  colorful.  She 
dreamed  of  handsome  houses  instead  of  a  five-room  flat. 
She  thought  in  thousands  instead  of  hundreds.  She 
was  accustomed  now  to  ride  in  automobiles,  she  used  to 
think  the  subway  and  the  street  cars  a  good  means  of 
locomotion ;  quite  wonderful,  in  fact,  because  there  were 
neither  in  Haynesville.  But  now  it  mussed  her  hand- 
some clothes  to  ride  in  the  crush  in  the  subway  or  in 
the  crowded  street  cars.  So  when  Bates  didn't  send  or 
take  her  home  in  his  car,  she  rode  in  the  Fifth  Avenue 
buses.  They  weren't  crowded,  and  so  people  didn't  walk 
all  over  one. 

In  every  respect  was  the  country  girl  changed.  And, 
strange  to  say,  not  for  the  better.  Yet  no  one  ever  yet 
could  truthfully  say  that  Bertha  had  transgressed  the 
moral  code.  People  talked,  they  always  do  when  a 

102 


millionaire  pays  attention  to  a  shop  girl,  but  Bertha 
was  singularly  impervious  to  their  gossip. 

' '  I  know  I  'm  decent,  what  do  I  care  what  folks  say  ? ' ' 
she  said  when  Julia  repeated  some  gossip  she  had  heard 
anent  Bertha  and  Bates  Freeman.  "They  are  jealous, 
that's  all."  And  Bertha  really  believed  she  had  been 
as  she  expressed  it, ' '  decent, ' '  because  she  had  not  broken 
the  one  commandment. 

That  at  heart  she  was,  had  been  for  some  time,  a 
courtesan  she  would  have  indignantly  denied.  She  had 
repeatedly  done  so  when  Julia  would  argue  with  her  as 
to  the  right  and  wrong  of  things.  It  was  only  her  ' '  old- 
fashioned  bringing  up  that  made  her  so  afraid,"  Julia 
would  tell  her  again  and  again.  Perhaps  it  might  have 
been.  Early  teaching  sometimes  keeps  a  wonderful  hold 
upon  certain  natures. 

"When  they  went  out  to  luncheon  Bertha  asked  Julia 
to  come  up  and  spend  the  night. 

"I  couldn't  have  you  last  night,  I  was  tired  almost 
to  death,"  she  had  said.  "Bates  is  away,  and  we  can 
have  a  nice  long  talk.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  some- 
thing, something  I  have  to  decide,  and  honest,  Julia,  I 
can't  tell  what  to  do,  I'm  almost  crazy  thinking  about 
it." 

"I  knew  something  was  troubling  you;  can't  you  tell 
me  now  ? ' ' 

' '  No — it  would  take  too  long,  there  is  too  much  to  talk 
about.  Will  you  go  home  with  me?" 

' '  Of  course  I  will !  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  refuse  ? 
Your  aunt  is  too  good  a  cook  for  me  to  say  no  to  an 
invite." 

103 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Bertha  felt  suddenly  relieved  that  she  had  decided  at 
last  to  confide  in  Julia.  It  would  help  just  to  talk  things 
over  with  her,  even  if  she  didn't  take  her  advice.  In 
fact,  Bertha  had  no  intention  of  doing  so.  She  wanted 
her  views,  she  wanted  to  know  what  she  thought  as  to 
her  ability  to  hold  Bates  Freeman  for  any  length  of 
time  if  she  promised  to  marry  him.  In  fact,  she  wanted 
encouragement  in  her  idea  that  she  might,  on  one  pre- 
text and  another,  put  him  off,  yet  keep  him  tied  to  her 
as  he  now  was. 

Julia  Lawrence  had  made  a  very  shrewd  guess  as  to 
what  was  troubling  Bertha,  but  wisely  she  had  not 
allowed  a  hint  of  her  suspicions  to  escape  her. 

After  dinner  they  went  up  to  Bertha's  room.  They 
could  talk  there  sure  of  being  undisturbed. 

' '  Now,  Bertha,  fire  away !  What 's  the  matter  ? ' '  Julia 
said  as  she  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"It's  Bates." 

' '  What 's  he  been  doing  now  ? ' ' 

"You  remember  that  night  last  week  when  we  had 
the  accident  and  ran  into  the  farmer?" 

"Yes — what  happened?" 

"Bates  was  frightened  for  fear  I  was  hurt.  Fright- 
ened almost  to  death.  You  should  have  seen  him — and 
heard  him, ' '  Bertha  explained  a  trifle  boastfully.  ' '  Then 
when  we  got  into  the  car  to  come  back  home  he  tried  to 
make  me  promise  to  marry  him." 

"He's  done  that  before — hasn't  he?" 

"Yes,  Julia,  but  not  like  he  did  this  time.  He  just 
took  it  for  granted  I  was  going  to  marry  him,  and  in- 
stead of  asking  if  I  would,  he  kept  asking  when.  I  tried 

104 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

to  put  him  off,  but  I  couldn't.  Then  he  came  up  here 
the  next  night  and  tried  again  to  make  me  set  the  day. 
He  brought  me  this  engagement  ring."  She  pulled  out 
the  brilliant  and  showed  it  to  Julia,  who  went  into  ecsta- 
sies over  it,  cleverly  appraising  its  value  and  telling 
Bertha  she  was  a  lucky  girl.  "I've  got  to  give  him  an 
answer  when  he  comes  back.  I'm  almost  crazy  over 
it." 

"When  did  you  hear  from  that  husband  of  yours 
last  ? ' '  Julia  said  after  a  moment,  apropos  of  nothing. 

"Yesterday." 

"Say  anything  particular?" 

"No — only  that  the  war  would  probably  last  for 
years." 

"What  more  do  you  want  him  to  say!  That's  all  you 
want  to  know.  I  don't  see  for  the  life  of  me  what  you 
are  making  such  a  fuss  over;  why  you  say  you  can't 
decide  about  Bates!" 

Bertha  looked  at  Julia  in  a  dazed  fashion  when  she 
said  that  she  couldn't  see  what  she  was  making  a  fuss 
about.  She  had  not  connected  the  two;  Julia's  question 
about  Peter  and  what  she  had  said  about  Bates. 

"You  see,  Julia,"  Bertha  went  on,  now  that  she  was 
started  she  was  anxious  to  talk,  to  tell  it  all,  "Bates 
has  made  up  his  mind  to  get  married.  And  the  worst 
of  it  is  he  wants  me  to  marry  him  right  away.  When 
you  come  to  think  of  it,  I  haven't  any  real  excuse  for 
waiting,  that  he  knows  about.  I  can't  bear  to  lose  him, 
Julia,  but  I  guess  I'll  have  to."  Bertha  wiped  away 
the  tears  of  self-pity  that  had  gathered  in  her  eyes  while 
she  talked. 

105 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Rot!"  exclaimed  Julia  inelegantly.  "You  make 
me  tired!  You  just  told  me  that  husband  of  yours 
said  the  war  would  last  for  years,  yet  you  sit  there 
talking  about  giving  up  that  million  dollar  kid,  and 
sniveling  over  it.  I  only  wish  I  had  your  chance.  I'd 
know  what  to  do  mighty  quick." 

' '  What  would  you  do  ?  "  listlessly  Bertha  asked.  Julia 
was  not  being  as  sympathetic  as  she  would  wish. 

1 '  I  'd  hurry  up  and  marry  Bates  before  he  changed  his 
mind.  That 's  what  I  'd  do ! " 

"Yes,  but  you're  not  married.  I  wish  I  had  told  him 
about  Peter  when  I  first  met  him,  perhaps  he  would  have 
liked  me  just  as  well,  or  perhaps  I  wouldn't  have  learned 
to  like  him  so  much." 

"1*116  idea  of  thinking  he  would  have  liked  you  as 
well  if  he  had  known  you  were  married.  He  just 
wouldn't  have  had  anything  to  do  with  you  and " 

"Perhaps  that  would  have  been  better  than " 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  Julia  interrupted.  "Bates  Free- 
man wouldn't  have  looked  at  you  twice  for  any  good 
if  you  had  been  a  married  woman.  Bates  is  wild  and 
spends  his  money  like  a  drunken  sailor,  but  he  ain't  no 
fool  to  go  and  get  tied  up  with  a  married  woman.  He 's 
cleverer  than  you  think." 

"I  know  he's  clever,  and  it  is  just  that  that  makes 
me  afraid.  I  hate  to  give  him  up;  honest,  it  ain't  all 
the  money,  either,  Julia.  I  have  grown  awfully  fond  of 
him  lately.  He's  been  so  nice  to  me  I  couldn't  help  lik- 
ing him.  But  he  wants  me  to  marry  him  next  week. 
If  I  thought  I  could  promise  to  marry  him  some  time 
and  get  away  with  it — why,  I'd  do  it  rather  than  give 

106 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

him  up.  But  I'm  afraid  to  take  the  chance,  because  if 
I  tell  him  that,  and  he  insists,  I  shall  have  to  tell  him. 
about  Peter,  and  that  would  be  awful.  He'd  hate  me 
then.  I  guess  I  better  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  when 
he  comes  back.  Maybe  if  I  do  he  will  help  me  out  in 
some  way.  I  ain't  married  like  some  people,  you  know. 
I  ain't  ever  lived  with  Peter." 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  once  more  Julia  exclaimed. 
"Bates  Freeman  would  never  forgive  you  for  deceiving 
him  all  this  time.  Never  in  the  world !  Taking  his  pres- 
ents and  his  money,  to  say  nothing  of  the  time  he  has 
wasted  on  you !  He  would  be  furious  and  right,  too. ' ' 

"But  you  advised  me " 

' '  That 's  right !  Blame  me !  Nice  time  you  'd  have  had 
all  this  time  if  you'd  gone  around  telling  you  were 
married!  No  one  would  have  looked  at  you,"  which 
Julia  knew  was  not  quite  true.  Bertha  was  so  pretty 
people  could  not  help  looking  at  her,  and  the  fact  that 
she  was  married  would  not  have  prevented  her  receiving 
a  certain  amount  of  admiration. 

"I  don't  blame  you;  Julia,  but  I  am  most  crazy." 
Bertha  was  weeping  now. 

"Why  not  promise  to  marry  him?  Hold  him  off  as 
long  as  you  can,  and  then " 

"Then  what?" 

"Then  marry  him.  Who'll  know  about  it?  No  one 
will  dream  that  Bates  Freeman's  wife  is  the  same  Bertha 
Moore  who  married  a  soldier  five  minutes  before  he  went 
away." 

' '  But  they  could  arrest  me — lock  me  up  if  they  found 
it  out." 

107 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

' '  People  have  to  take  some  chances.  Don 't  be  a  ninny ! 
Promise  to  marry  him,  and  I'll  help  you  think  of  some 
way  to  stave  him  off  for  a  while.  If  it  wasn't  that  you 
had  married  a  soldier  and  folks  would  talk  so  because 
of  that,  perhaps  you  could  get  a  divorce.  But  I  guess 
you  couldn't,  either.  You  have  to  have  some  grounds 
for  divorce." 

"Oh,  if  I  only  could!"  Bertha  sighed.  Then,  "But 
if  I  got  a  divorce  or  would  get  one,  Bates  would  know 
all  about  Peter,  and  maybe  he  wouldn't  want  me  then. 
Oh,  come  to  bed ! ' '  she  added  in  desperation.  ' '  I  '11  think 
of  something  to  do  before  Bates  gets  back."  Julia 
hadn't  been  any  help  after  all. 

Julia  slept  soundly  all  night,  but  Bertha  again  was 
wakeful.  All  through  the  long  quiet  hours  she  thought 
and  thought,  but  never  arrived  at  any  conclusion. 

She  was  Peter  Moore's  wife ;  and  she  wanted  to  marry 
Bates  Freeman.  It  was  not  so  simple  as  it  sounded. 


108 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  next  morning  the  subject  wasn't  mentioned  by 
the  girls  until  they  were  on  their  way  to  the  shop.  I'hen 
Julia  said: 

"You  didn't  sleep  much,  did  you?  You  look  like  a 
ghost  this  morning.  Better  fix  up  a  little  before  you 
wait  on  customers." 

"No,  I  didn't  sleep  five  minutes.  I've  a  notion  not 
to  go  near  the  store. ' ' 

"What  good  would  that  do?  You'll  be  thinking  all 
the  time,  no  matter  where  you  are.  Come  on;  maybe 
something  will  come  to  me — some  way  to  manage." 
Julia  had  no  notion  of  letting  Bertha  away  from  her 
influence.  She  intended  to  do  all  she  could  to  make  her 
keep  Bates  Freeman. 

Bertha  took  Julia's  advice  and  applied  a  liberal 
amount  of  rouge  and  powder  before  she  attempted  to 
wait  upon  customers.  She  did  look  ghastly.  All  the 
morning  she  was  absent-minded,  inattentive.  For  the 
first  time  she  drew  a  sharp  reprimand  from  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  shop.  She  replied  impatiently,  and 
thought  in  her  mind  that  if  she  could  marry  Bates  no 
one  would  dare  speak  sharply  to  her. 

Peter,  in  his  letter,  had  urged  her  to  go  home;  per- 
haps that  was  the  best  way  out.  Just  go  home  and  stay 

109 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

there;  wash  dishes  and  help  her  mother.  A  wave  of 
disgust  swept  over  her  at  the  thought,  almost  nauseating 
her.  Go  back  to  that  little  one-horse  town  and  settle 
down !  It  would  be  worse  now  than  before  she  left ;  worse 
for  her.  Then  she  could  go  around  occasionally  with  the 
boys,  but  back  there  a  married  woman  couldn't  stir.  She 
would  be  Peter's  wife,  and,  of  course,  could  not  expect 
to  join  the  unmarried  boys  and  girls.  It  would  not  be 
considered  decent.  No,  she'd  rather  die  first. 

But  that  her  fate  was  on  the  knees  of  the  gods,  and 
that  they  might  take  a  hand  in  deciding  things  for  her 
she  never  dreamed.  About  noon  she  received  a  note 
from  Bates.  A  gay,  loving  little  note  in  which  the  new 
tenderness  for  her  still  glowed.  Bertha  was  neither  very 
sentimental  nor  very  romantic,  but  before  she  tucked  the 
note  away  she  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 

At  luncheon,  which,  as  usual,  she  and  Julia  had  to- 
gether, she  asked: 

"Well,  Julia,  have  you  thought  of  any  way  out  of 
the  muddle?" 

"No — honest,  I  don't  see  anything  to  do  but  just  to 
promise  to  marry  him,  and  then  string  him.  Some- 
thing may  happen  most  any  time,  so  it  would  come  all 
right  for  you." 

Bertha  shuddered.  She  knew  what  Julia  meant ;  that 
she  thought  Peter  might  get  killed,  and  so  she,  Bertha, 
would  be  free.  What  an  awful  way  to  plan.  Yet  if  it 
should  happen 

The  thought  was  with  her  all  the  afternoon.  She  was 
not  very  busy  and  had  too  much  time  to  think.  Think- 
ing did  her  no  good. 

110 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

About  four  o'clock  she  was  called  to  the  telephone.  To 
her  astonishment  it  was  her  aunt. 

"A  telegram  came  for  you.  I  opened  it.  Your  mother 
is  very  sick,  perhaps  dying.  Your  father  wants  you  to 
come  at  once." 

Bertha  reeled  as  she  left  the  telephone.  She  never 
had  thought  of  her  mother  as  sick  or  dying.  She  had 
only  remembered  the  disagreeable  things  she  used  to  do 
at  home,  the  narrow,  joyless  life  she  led.  But  it  was 
strange  how  now  there  crowded  upon  her  mind  one  thing 
after  another.  She  recalled  how  her  mother  always 
washed  the  dishes  and  let  her  dry  them  so  she  would  not 
spoil  her  hands ;  how  she  would  go  without  a  new  dress 
and  give  Bertha  the  money  to  buy  herself  something  she 
coveted.  Even  when  she  had  left  home  hadn't  mother 
given  her  all  her  chicken  and  vegetable  money  so  she 
could  make  a  brave  appearance  in  New  York?  And 
whenever  she  had  been  ailing,  even  ever  so  little,  hadn  't 
mother  run  up  and  down  stairs  waiting  on  her,  making 
her  broth  and  fixing  little  dainty  dishes  to  tempt  her 
appetite?  Queer  she  had  forgotten  all  these  things  for 
so  long! 

"What  is  it?"  Julia  asked  as  Bertha  returned  to  the 
salesroom.  Something  in  her  face  arrested  attention. 

Without  replying,  Bertha  went  directly  to  the  pro- 
prietor and  told  her  news. 

"You  will  want  to  go,  of  course,"  she  said  kindly. 
"Do  you  need  money  or  anything?" 

"Yes,  I'll  go."  Until  she  said  it,  Bertha  had  not 
known  she  was  intending  to  go.  "No,  thank  you;  I 
don't  need  anything." 

Ill 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Go  right  along,  then.  Yon  can  catch  a  train  to- 
night, can't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  can  get  the  night  train,"  she  repeated  dully. 
As  she  went  for  her  hat,  Julia  followed. 

' '  What  is  it,  Bertha  ?    Bates  ? ' ' 

"No!"  impatiently.  "It's  my  mother.  She's  dying, 
maybe.  I  am  going  home." 

Julia  consoled  her,  hoped  she  would  find  her 
mother  better  and  would  soon  be  back.  To  herself  she 
said: 

"Such  luck!    Bates  can't  insist  on  her  marrying  him 
right  away  if  her  mother  dies."    Julia  wasn't  particu 
larly  hard-hearted.    It  was  only  that  she  never  forgot 
the  main  chance. 

Bertha  hurried  home,  packed  her  bag,  wrote  a  little, 
hurried  note  of  explanation  to  Bates  Freeman,  then 
caught  her  train  for  Haynesville.  It  was  a  long,  lonely 
ride.  Unaccustomed  to  a  sleeping  car,  she  could  not 
rest,  and  the  thought  of  her  mother,  that  she  might  be 
dying  or  dead,  made  night  a  horror. 

Her  father  met  her  at  the  train,  and  greeted  her 
affectionately.  "Your  ma  is  better,"  he  said,  as  he 
took  her  bag. 

He  felt  a  little  awed  by  the  stylish  girl  at  his  side, 
so  unlike  the  girl  who  a  year  and  a  half  ago  had  left 
home  for  the  first  time.  Although  she  wore  a  plain, 
tailored  suit  and  turban  to  match,  he  would  have  been 
amazed  had  he  known  the  cost.  Even  her  shoes  were 
such  as  no  dealer  in  Haynesville  carried.  Then,  too, 
this  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  since  she  and 
Peter  were  married. 

112 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

''How's  Peter?"  he  asked  after  Bertna  had  expressed 
her  joy  that  her  mother  was  better. 

"He's  all  right." 

"His  ma  and  pa  and  pretty  near  all  the  village  are 
mighty  proud  of  Peter.  His  pa  told  me  he's  a  lef tenant 
now. ' ' 

"Yes,  he  wrote  me." 

"He  gets  more  pay,  too." 

"Yes." 

To  Bertha's  relief  they  were  at  home.  She  hated  to  be 
questioned  about  Peter. 

Mrs.  Hunter  wept  when  she  saw  Bertha.  She,  while 
better,  was  still  very  weak,  and  the  sight  of  the  girl  on 
whom  she  had  lavished  so  much  affection,  and  whom  she 
had  not  seen  for  so  long  affected  her  to  a  degree. 

' '  Oh,  Bertha ! ' '  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  arms. 

"There,  ma,  don't  cry,"  and  Bertha,  her  own  eyes 
suspiciously  moist,  kissed  her  mother  tenderly. 

"Have  you  come  to  stay,  Bertha?"  her  mother  asked 
anxiously. 

"Don't  worry,  ma,  I'm  here  now." 

Mr.  Hunter  had  left  immediately  for  the  store.  He 
had  neglected  his  business  to  take  care  of  his  wife,  and 
Bertha's  coming  had  been  a  relief.  He  had  asked  no 
questions  about  her  remaining.  He  had  not  thought  but 
that  she  would.  She  had  brought  a  big  trunk,  very 
new  looking,  which  he  had  sent  up  to  the  house  on  the 
grocery  wagon.  He  wondered  a  bit  what  she  could 
have  to  need  such  a  big  trunk.  She  had  taken  all  her 
possessions  in  a  suitcase  when  she  left. 

Bertha  went  immediately  to  work  tidying  the  house 

113 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

and  doing  what  was  necesasry  for  her  mother.  She 
had  not  much  time  to  think,  there  was  so  much  to  do, 
and  when  night  came  she  was  too  tired.  The  boys  and 
girls  hearing  she  was  at  home  stopped  a  moment  at  the 
gate  or  on  the  porch  to  say  how-de-do,  and  then  to  go 
home  and  report  how  stylish  Bertha  was,  even  in  her 
working  clothes.  The  girls  spent  hours  trying  to  do 
their  hair  like  hers. 

Peter's  mother  had  been  over  the  first  day  Bertha 
reached  home. 

"I  won't  stay,  dear,  but  I  had  to  come  over  and  wel- 
come Peter's  wife.  When  your  mother  is  well  enough 
to  spare  you,  you  must  spend  some  of  your  time  with 
me.  We  shall  have  a  great  deal  to  talk  over  to- 
gether. ' ' 

Bertha  shivered.  She  knew  what  having  a  great  deal 
to  talk  over  would  mean.  Endless  discussion  of  Peter, 
his  good  qualities,  and  her  duties  as  his  wife. 

Her  own  mother  had  questioned  her  very  little.  Partly 
because  of  her  weakness,  and  partly  because  she  was 
satisfied  to  have  Bertha  with  her.  She  improved  rapidly 
and  was  soon  about  again  although  still  unable  to  do 
any  work  about  the  house,  save  some  of  the  lighter  tasks 
which  she  insisted  upon  doing  to  relieve  Bertha. 

Bertha  had  been  obliged  to  spend  several  afternoons 
with  her  mother-in-law.  Peter's  letters  had  been  taken 
from  beneath  the  leaves  of  the  family  Bible,  and  she  had 
to  listen  while  his  mother  read  them  aloud.  These  let- 
ters, parts  of  which  were  absolutely  unintelligible  to 
Bertha  because  of  the  vision  they  revealed,  the  spiritual 
feeling  and  outlook  the  boy  confided  to  his  mother,  bored 

114 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Bertha  almost  to  death.  She  got  so  that  she  hated  the 
thought  of  going  over  there  to  talk  of  Peter,  and  to 
listen  to  things  that  were  "so  silly  she  didn't  under- 
stand them,"  she  said  to  herself.  But  she  knew  if  she 
refused  it  would  cause  gossip  and  make  her  own  mother 
feel  badly. 

Among  her  callers  had  been  old  Thomas  Brooks. 

"I  wanted  to  shake  hands  with  you,  Bertha.  We  are 
all  very  proud  of  Peter;  proud  that  he  is  a  Haynes- 
ville  boy.  They  tell  me  he  is  a  second  lieutenant  now. 
He'll  make  his  mark  if  he  lives;  I  always  said  so,"  and 
the  old  soldier  shook  his  head  solemnly  as  he  extended 
his  left  and  only  hand  to  Bertha. 

"Old  bore,"  she  said  under  her  breath  after  he  left. 
He  had  talked  war  for  an  hour.  Civil  war  first,  then  the 
war  that  had  caused  Peter  to  leave  home.  She  sighed 
with  relief  and  hoped  he  would  not  come  again. 

There  were  two  things  about  Bertha  that  worried  her 
mother.  One  was  the  way  she  dressed.  Although  Ber- 
tha had  only  worn  her  simplest  clothes,  they  were  of  so 
stylish  a  cut,  so  different  from  the  clothes  worn  in 
Haynesville  that  her  mother  feared  the  neighbors  would 
comment  upon  her  extravagance.  When  she  spoke  of 
it,  Bertha  answered: 

"I  earn  my  clothes,  I  guess  I  have  a  right  to  wear 
what  I  please.  I  don't  even  use  Peter's  money  to  buy 
them." 

"What  do  you  do  with  his  money,  then?" 

"I  save  the  little  he  sends  me.  It  wouldn't  be  a  drop 
in  the  bucket  for  my  clothes." 

115 


"You  mean  that  you  earn  more  than  Peter  does?" 
Mrs.  Hunter  asked,  aghast.  That  a  woman,  a  girl, 
should  earn  more  than  a  man  was  unheard  of  in  Haynes- 
ville. 

' '  I  should  say  I  do ! ' '  but  she  did  not  tell  her  mother 
how  much  she  earned,  and  the  meek  little  woman,  rather 
afraid  of  her  stylish,  capable  daughter  did  not  like  to 
ask  her.  But  after  that  Bertha  was  more  wonderful 
than  ever  in  her  eyes. 

The  other  thing  that  worried  Mrs.  Hunter  was  Ber- 
tha's daily  trips  to  the  store  to  get  her  mail. 

"Father  will  bring  it  up,"  she  said  to  her  one  rainy 
day  as  Bertha  started  out  as  soon  as  the  mail  train 
had  arrived. 

"I  prefer  to  get  my  mail  myself.  I  don't  like  to  be 
quizzed  about  my  letters." 

So  notwithstanding  that  she  had  noticed  the  many  let- 
ters Bertha  brought  home,  and  had  occasionally  caught 
a  glimpse  of  bold  masculine  writing  on  the  envelopes, 
she  asked  no  questions.  But  she  wondered  who  it  was 
who  wrote  to  Bertha,  a  married  woman,  so  regularly. 
Once  she  found  an  envelope,  empty,  and  looked  curiously 
at  the  address,  "Miss  Bertha  Moore,"  probably  just  a 
mistake,  but  it  worried  her,  without  her  knowing  in  the 
least  why. 

Bates  Freeman  wrote  Bertha  nearly  every  day.  As 
her  mother  improved  and  Bertha  told  him,  he  threat- 
ened to  come  after  her  if  she  did  not  return  soon.  Ber- 
tha replied  that  she  would  be  back  the  moment  she 
could  leave  her  mother,  and  begged  him  not  to  come. 
She  gave  as  an  excuse  that  then  they  would  fight  her 

116 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

going  back  at  all.  But  she  would  make  the  loss  of  her 
position  the  excuse  to  return. 

Julia  wrote  frequently.  Bertha  often  read  portions 
of  her  letters  to  her  mother,  especially  those  parts  in 
which  Julia  told  of  how  Bertha  was  missed  in  the  shop, 
and  that  there  never  was  another  saleswoman  like  her; 
even  that  the  customers  refused  to  buy  hats  until  she 
came  back. 

Julia  had  received  a  tip  from  Bertha  that  if  she 
wanted  her  to  come  back  to  write  in  that  way. 

Not  that  it  really  would  have  made  any  difference, 
for  as  her  mother  grew  stronger  there  was  nothing  in 
the  world  that  could  have  kept  Bertha  Moore  in  Haynes- 
ville. 

"Wash  dishes  and  sweep;  go  over  to  listen  to  Peter's 
letters,  and  play  the  part  of  Peter's  wife  in  the  com- 
munity— not  if  she  knew  it!"  she  said  to  herself  after 
receiving  a  particularly  urgent  letter  from  Julia  in 
which  she  said  she  didn't  believe  Bertha  intended  to 
return. 

Gradually  she.  commenced  to  talk  of  going  back  to 
New  York.  Her  mother  could  scarcely  grasp  her  mean- 
ing at  first.  She,  like  all  the  townsfolk,  had  supposed 
that  Bertha,  Peter's  wife,  had  come  home  to  stay.  Peter 
could  support  a  wife  all  right  now,  so  why  should  she 
work  outside  of  her  own  home  which,  until  he  re- 
turned from  the  war,  would  naturally  be  her  mother's 
home. 

"And  her  an  only  child,"  Martin  Gormley,  the  town 
gossip,  had  said  with  an  indescribable  accent  when  he 
heard.  "It's  them  fine  clothes  that's  done  it.  She's 

117 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

got  used  to  'em  and  can't  be  contented  with  what  Peter 
can  give  her." 

"A  woman  what  can't  live  on  a  lieutenant's  salary, 
especially  when  she  ain't  no  board  to  pay,  ain't  no  busi- 
ness bein'  a  soldier's  wife,"  Martin  Brooks  averred. 

The  girls  of  the  town,  those  of  Bertha's  age,  fairly 
held  their  breath  at  her  daring,  her  independence.  She, 
a  married  woman,  going  away  and  working  in  New  York 
instead  of  living  in  Haynesville.  It  was  an  unheard  of 
thing  to  do;  yet  while  it  amazed  them,  it  excited  their 
admiration. 

Peter's  mother  heard,  but  was  slow  to  believe. 

" Bertha  wouldn't  leave  us  all  now  that  Peter  can 
take  such  good  care  of  her, ' '  she  said  to  Mr.  Moore. 

"I  don't  know  about  that,  Ma.  Bertha  ain't  very 
keen  on  staying;  at  least  she  don't  seem  so  to  me.  She 
acts  as  if  we  bored  her.  Ain't  you  noticed  it?" 

"Yes,  John,  but  I  hoped  I  was  mistaken.  Poor 
Peter." 

"There  ain't  no  reason  she  can't  stay  if  she  wanted 
to,  Ma.  He  sends  her  most  all  his  pay." 

"Yes,  John.    Poor  Peter!" 

Peter's  mother  had  sent  for  Bertha  and  her  mother 
to  come  over  and  spend  the  afternoon.  Mrs.  Hunter 
was  now  able  to  go  out,  and  so  Bertha  could  think  of 
no  excuse  to  refuse  the  invitation.  Mrs.  Moore  had 
hinted  that  she  had  a  surprise  for  them. 

Both  the  older  ladies  had  their  knitting  in  their  hands 
while  they  visited.  Both  were  knitting  socks  for  Peter. 
Bertha  sat  with  her  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  bored, 
uneasy,  her  thoughts  on  Bates  Freeman,  Julia,  the  shop, 

118 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

New  York.  She  wondered  how  she  had  endured  Haynes- 
ville  so  long. 

While  they  knitted  the  talk  ran  on  town  gossip,  the 
church  doings,  the  newest  baby,  a  coming  marriage,  and 
the  burial  of  one  of  the  town's  oldest  inhabitants,  and 
other  things  in  which  Bertha  had  not  the  slightest  inter- 
est. Then,  too,  Bertha  was  nervous.  Peter's  mother 
must  also  be  told  that  she  intended  to  go  back  to  New 
York.  Must  be  told  she  was  going  at  once,  now  that  her 
mother  was  getting  over  her  illness. 

About  four  o'clock  Mrs.  Moore  served  tea  and  crisp, 
delicious  home-made  cakes  to  her  guests.  She  was  famed 
for  her  cooking,  and,  as  she  explained  to  Bertha,  the 
cakes  were  the  same  as  the  ones  Peter  loved  and  which 
she  had  been  sending  him  ever  since  he  left  Haynesville. 
The  simple  loving  soul  had  no  idea  that  Peter's  wife 
would  not  be  as  interested  in  the  little  homely  detail  as 
she  was  herself. 

"Now  I  have  a  surprise  for  you!"  Mrs.  Moore  said 
after  they  had  finished  their  tea  and  cakes.  Bertha 
had  not  been  able  to  eat  but  one,  not  that  she  didn't 
find  them  good,  but  her  mind  was  so  occupied. 

Peter 's  mother  opened  the  family  Bible  and  drew  from 
between  its  leaves  a  letter.  It  had  been  written  immedi- 
ately after  the  one  he  had  written  Bertha  telling  her  he 
was  a  second  lieutenant  and  in  which  he  had  urged 
her  to  go  to  Haynesville  and  stay  because  now  he  could 
send  her  more  money. 

Peter  told  his  mother  of  his  commission,  simply, 
not  boastfully.  He  emphasized  his  pleasure  in  his 
promotion  becauae  of  the  fact  that  now  it  would  enable 

119 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

him  to  send  Bertha  more  money,  and  that  because  of  the 
extra  money  she  would  now  be  able  to  return  to  Haynes- 
ville,  instead  of  working  in  the  millinery  shop. 

He  said  that  he  had  already  written  Bertha  to  that 
effect,  and  that  he  was  sure  that  by  the  time  his  mother 
received  this  she  would  be  in  Haynesville.  Then  followed 
a  description  of  the  battle,  in  which,  because  of  what  he 
had  done,  he  had  been  promoted,  as  he  put  it. 

He  told  of  the  chaplain,  what  a  bully  good  fellow  he 
was.  How  he  made  you  feel  that  heaven  was  mighty 
close  to  a  soldier  who  did  his  duty.  He  told  how  his  ear 
drums  ached  with  the  roar  of  the  guns,  and  how  he 
wished  the  terrible  racket  would  stop.  He  was  a  non- 
com  then  and  he  must  not  show  his  nervousness  any 
more  than  if  he  were  a  real  officer,  he  told  his  mother, 
although  he  acknowledged  that  at  times  he  was  fright- 
ened almost  to  death. 

"I  guess  we  all  get  it  at  times — the  fright,  I  mean. 
But  as  long  as  we  don 't  show  it  it  don 't  hurt.  I  remem- 
ber wishing  you  were  here.  Just  imagine,  mother,  wish- 
ing you  were  here.  You,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  blood 
and  killing.  But  I  had  the  feeling  of  a  small  boy  who 
has  been  hurt  or  is  scared,  and  the  first,  last,  and  only 
thing  he  wants  is  his  mother." 

Mrs.  Moore  stopped  reading  to  wipe  her  eyes;  Mrs. 
Hunter  was  also  softly  weeping.  But  Bertha's  lip  had  a 
sneer.  Such  silly  stuff  to  write.  Saying  he  wanted  his 
mother  when  he  was  fighting. 

"But,  mother,"  she  read  on,  "when  the  whistles 
shrilled,  we  went  over.  Men  were  dropping  around  me 
all  the  time.  Some  of  them  I  knew,  and,  mother,  that 

120 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

was  hardest  of  all  to  see  them  go  down  and  not  stop  to 
help.  I  fought  on.  Why  I  wasn't  wounded  I  can't  see. 
We  had  the  Boches  on  the  run  all  right.  We  took  a  lot 
of  prisoners.  I  was  fortunate  to  get  a  couple  of  my 
own,  that's  why  they  noticed  me,  I  guess.  Our  com- 
pany was  pretty  well  wiped  out.  We  lost  nearly  half. 
It's  never  ceased  to  be  a  wonder  to  me  how  I  escaped. 
I  guess  maybe  it  was  because  you  were  praying  for  me. 
I  never  go  into  a  battle  but  I  think  that  back  home  in 
little  old  Haynesville  you  are  praying  for  me,  praying 
and  loving.  It  helps  a  man  a  heap  to  feel  sure  someone 
is  doing  that." 

Again  she  stopped  reading  to  wipe  her  eyes.  And 
again  if  she  had  glanced  at  Bertha  she  would  have  seen 
no  sympathy  on  her  pretty  young  face.  The  idea  of 
anyone's  praying  keeping  him  from  getting  shot. 

' '  Peter  is  a  good  boy, ' '  Bertha 's  mother  said. 

"Yes,  Peter  has  always  been  a  good  boy,"  his  mother 
agreed.  ''Not  that  he  wasn't  up  to  pranks  like  all  boys ; 
but  he  always  was  serious  at  times,  full  of  quaint  ideas. ' ' 

There  was  little  else  in  the  letter.  Soon  Bertha  and 
her  mother  rose  to  go.  Tea  had  to  be  ready  for  Mr. 
Hunter  when  he  came  home  from  the  store. 

"I  shall  say  good-bye,"  Bertha  remarked  as  she  pinned 
on  her  hat.  ' '  I  am  going  back  to  New  York  to-morrow. ' ' 


121 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHEN  Bertha  announced  that  she  was  going  back  to 
New  York  on  the  morrow,  Peter's  mother  gasped,  then 
stood  as  if  petrified.  It  was  several  minutes  before  she 
spoke : 

' '  But  Peter  expects  you  to  remain  here,  now  that  he  is 
earning  more — enough  to  give  you  what  you  want." 

Bertha  was  not  intentionally  cruel,  but  she  had  a 
disagreeable  task  and  wished  it  over.  She  replied: 

"He  can't  give  me  half  what  I  can  earn.  And  I  hate 
Haynesville — anyone  would  after  living  in  New  York," 
her  tone  slightly  apologetic. 

"But — we  hoped — we  love  you — here,"  Mrs.  Moore 
stopped,  overcome  by  her  emotion.  She  was  thinking  of 
Peter,  of  his  disappointment  when  he  found  that  Bertha 
would  not  stay.  For  herself  it  made  no  difference.  She 
had  plumbed  the  depth  of  Bertha's  shallow  nature,  and 
the  words  "Poor  Peter"  were  often  on  her  lips. 

"I  am  going  back,"  Bertha  said,  a  finality  in  her  tone 
Peter's  mother  did  not  attempt  to  gainsay. 

Bertha's  own  mother  looked  distressed,  not  only  on 
her  own  account,  but  because  of  Peter's  mother.  While 
of  a  totally  different  caliber  than  Mrs.  Moore  she  sensed 
in  a  way  her  disappointment  and  it  made  her  own  the 
more  intense.  But  she  had  already  exhausted  all  her 

122 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

powers  of  persuasion  on  Bertha,  so  she  simply  looked 
her  regret,  but  did  not  voice  it. 

With  her  usual  perspicacity,  the  other  mother  under- 
stood. And  when  they  shook  hands  at  parting  she  held 
Mrs.  Hunter's  hand  in  a  close  grasp  and  said: 

"We  will  have  to  be  more  neighborly  when  Bertha 
goes." 

Bertha's  father  did  not  take  her  leaving  them  quite 
as  easily  as  she  had  hoped  he  would.  He  scolded,  he 
tried  to  exert  his  authority  until  Bertha  reminded  him 
that  she  was  a  married  woman  now,  that  he  did  not  sup- 
port her,  and  that  she  would  do  as  she  pleased.  After 
she  had  so  expressed  herself  he  tried  to  get  her  to  stay 
on  the  plea  that  her  mother's  health  was  such  that  she 
was  not  able  to  take  care  of  the  home. 

"I'll  pay  for  a  hired  girl,"  Bertha  said  to  silence  that 
objection,  and  as  she  well  knew  her  mother  would  not 
have  a  girl  if  she  was  able  to  get  about  she  was  safe. 
But  she  would  gladly  have  paid  the  wages  of  one 
rather  than  have  stayed  on  a  day  longer.  She 
could  scarcely  wait  for  the  time  to  come  to  be  on  her 
way. 

She  wanted  to  telegraph  Bates  Freeman,  but  thought 
it  unwise.  She  would  get  the  porter  to  send  him  a  wire 
from  the  train.  He  would  meet  her,  she  was  sure. 

She  parted  from  her  father  and  mother  pleasantly 
enough  in  spite  of  the  feeling  they  had  that  she  should 
remain.  But  when  the  little  Haynesville  station  finally 
disappeared  she  said  to  herself : 

"Never  again !  Mother  will  have  to  get  along  without 
me."  And  before  they  reached  the  next  stopping  place 

123 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

the  porter  had  taken  her  message  to  Bates  Freeman. 
It  read: 

"Reach  New  York  5.50.    Love,  Bertha." 

The  trip  was  uneventful.  She  reached  New  York  on 
time  and  found  Bates  waiting  for  her  with  a  brand-new 
car. 

"A  surprise,"  he  told  her  after  he  had  welcomed  her 
and  attended  to  her  luggage.  "I  am  going  to  have  you 
learn  to  run  it." 

"This  is  something  like  living,"  she  thought,  as  she 
leaned  back  in  the  car.  Bates  was  taking  her  directly 
to  a  fashionable  place  for  dinner. 

"I  know  it  is  early,  but  you  are  probably  starved," 
he  said,  and  Bertha  acknowledged  that  she  was. 
Her  leaving  Haynesville  had  not  been  pleasant.  She 
had  been  made  to  feel  that  she  was  doing  something 
wrong;  that  it  was  her  duty  as  Peter's  wife  to  stay 
there.  If  she  had  forgotten  many  times  in  the  last  year 
and  a  half  in  New  York  that  she  was  married  to  Peter, 
she  had  had  no  possible  chance  to  forget  it  in  Haynes- 
ville, where  Peter  was  the  village  hero. 

"They  almost  made  me  stay,"  she  laughingly  told 
Bates. 

"I  should  like  to  have  seen  them.  If  you  hadn't  come 
this  week  I  was  coming  after  you ;  was  going  to  surprise 
you.  It  might  have  been  better  anyway,"  he  went  on; 
"your  folks  will  have  to  know  some  time." 

Bertha  shivered  as  she  thought  of  her  narrow  escape. 
"What  if  he  had  come?  It  was  too  horrible  to  think  of. 

They  had  a  delicious  dinner,  then  Bates  took  her  up 
to  her  Aunt  Martha's. 

124 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"It's  only  for  a  few  days,'*  he  told  her.  "You  are 
going  to  marry  me  right  away,  Bertha,  aren't  you, 
dear?" 

"Perhaps — pretty  soon,"  she  parried.  "But  do  let 
me  get  used  to  you  again,  Bates;  I  feel  as  if  I  had  to 
commence  to  know  you  all  over.  It  was  awful;  that 
country  town,  the  people,  everything!" 

Peter  was  a  non-com  no  longer.  As  second  lieutenant 
he  commanded  by  force  of  his  rapid  promotion  even 
more  respect  from  his  comrades.  He  had  written 
Bertha  and  sent  the  letter  to  Haynesville.  It  never 
occurred  to  his  simple  mind  to  doubt  she  would  do  as  he 
desired  and  remain  there.  Had  he  known  Bertha  better, 
been  better  acquainted  with  his  own  wife,  he  never  would 
have  expected  her  to  give  up  anything  she  desired  to  do 
unless  she  were  compelled. 

She  had  been  in  New  York  three  or  four  days  before 
she  received  the  readdressed  letter  from  Haynesville. 

Peter  began: 

"DEAR  BERTHA:  I  feel  so  much  happier  about  you 
now  that  you  are  back  in  Haynesville  with  your  folks 
and  mine.  I  know  they  will  enjoy  having  you  with 
them.  It  will  give  you  plenty  to  do,  so  you  won't  get 
lonely  if  you  divide  your  time  between  the  two.  For 
you  have  two  now,  Bertha,  your  own  home  and  mine. 
My  mother  is  ready  to  love  you,  and  father  will  be  de- 
lighted. He  has  always  wished  for  a  daughter.  Be 
a  real  daughter  to  them,  Bertha,  won't  you?  But,  of 
course,  you  will. 

"It  isn't  like  going  among  strangers,  they  have  known 
you  all  your  life.  I  don't  think  I  could  have  married 

125 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

a  strange  girl;  strange  to  Haynesville,  and  to  mother. 

' '  I  have  been  in  the  German  gas  attack.  I  shall  never 
forget  it.  It  is  hard  to  tell  of  it  so  that  you  can  under- 
stand. But  it  was  terrible.  We  had  no  gas  masks — 
nothing  to  protect  us.  I  never  had  seen  it  before;  a 
thick  heavy  gas  that  rolled  across  No  Man's  Land.  It 
came  upon  us  and  nauseated  us  terribly.  I  choked  and 
gasped  and  coughed ;  so  did  all  the  other  fellows.  Some 
of  the  men  turned  green,  and  rolled  their  eyes  horribly 
as  they  gasped  for  breath.  I  had  an  awful  taste  in  my 
mouth,  and  a  dreadful  feeling  that  it  was  the  last,  that 
I  was  dying,  and  so  could  do  no  more  for  my  country. 
Thousands  of  our  men — over  two-thirds  of  them — lost 
their  lives  in  that  abominable  wholesale  asphyxiation. 
I  saved  myself  by  wetting  my  handkerchief  in  the  water 
I  had  in  my  canteen  and  holding  it  over  my  face.  Don't 
tell  mother.  I  would  not  like  her  to  know  how  near 
death  I  had  been. ' ' 

Peter  wrote  as  he  felt.  His  mother  would  grieve. 
Somehow  he  never  thought  of  Bertha  as  grieving,  she 
never  seemed  to  understand.  She  had  been  called  away 
when  she  reached  this  point  in  his  letter,  and  did  not 
hurry  back.  ' '  Peter  always  wrote  such  solemn  letters, ' ' 
she  once  told  Julia  Lawrence,  but  finally  she  was  free 
and  once  again  she  picked  up  the  closely  written  sheet. 

"Germany  thinks  she  is  so  big  and  strong  she  never 
can  be  whipped.  And,  Bertha,  I  don't  believe  she  can 
unless  the  good  old  U.  S.  A.  comes  in.  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  the  Germans  are  awfully  hard  fighters.  They 
learn  to  fight — so  they  tell  me  over  here — as  soon  as  they 
are  weaned.  And  they  are  awfully  cruel.  We  have  no 

126 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

idea  how  cruel.  Our  ideas  of  the  Germans  have  been 
formed  by  knowing  a  few  delicatessen  storekeepers  and 
others  like  them.  Perhaps  they  would  be  cruel,  too,  if 
we  should  come  into  the  Avar.  I  know  I  never  shall  trust 
anyone  who  has  a  drop  of  German  blood  in  his  veins.  I 
suppose  you  have  heard  some  of  the  stories  of  the  ter- 
rible things  they  do — to  the  soldiers,  and  to  women  and 
children.  But  if  you  could  see  them  crucify  these  Cana- 
dians, and  could  see  the  little  children  with  hands  cut 
off,  and  could  know  the  awful  things  they  do  to  women 
and  girls  like  you,  you  would  pray  every  moment  of 
your  life  that  America  would  wake  up.  The  Germans 
are  in  this  war  to  win.  They  have  no  mercy,  no  pity. 
Don't  believe  anything  good  of  them.  It  isn't  in  their 
nature. 

"I  expect  you  think  I  am  foolish  to  write  so  much 
about  the  Germans.  It  doesn't  make  a  bright  letter, 
does  it,  Bertha?  But  when  you  see  such  things  as  I 
have  seen,  and  think  about  them,  you  can't  help  writing 
about  them. 

"Last  night  I  dreamed  you  were  with  mother  and 
that  she  was  so  happy  because  you  and  she  could  talk 
of  me.  Mother  is  a  very  wonderful  woman,  and  I  hope 
you  will  try  to  understand  her.  Take  up  the  reading 
with  her,  and  if  you  feel  that  you  can  I  wish  you  would 
also  study  French  with  her.  You  are  young  and 
would  learn  more  easily,  so  could  be  a  great  help  to 
her. 

"Walk  over  to  the  factory  with  father  occasionally. 
It  will  please  him  enormously.  Talk  to  old  Thomas 
Brooks  once  in  a  while,  and  remember  me  to  Martin 

127 


TEE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Gormley.  Even  if  lie  is  an  old  grouch,  he  has  lots  of 
good  in  him. 

"When  you  go  to  church  tell  the  minister  that  the 
chaplains  over  here  are  real  fellows.  Tell  him  that  they 
make  a  fellow  want  to  be  good;  they  don't  scare  him 
into  it. 

"I  shall  be  anxious  to  hear  from  you.  Tell  me  how 
mother  and  father  look ;  try  and  keep  them  from  worry- 
ing about  me.  With  love,  PETER.  ' ' 

"The  idea!  he  must  be  crazy  to  think  I  am  going  to 
spend  my  life  carrying  messages  to  old  man  Gormley 
and  Tom  Brooks;  and  going  to  the  factory  with  his 
father ;  and  sitting  with  his  mother  while  she  talks  about 
him.  I'd  rather  be  dead!" 

Bertha  read  Peter's  letter  to  Uncle  Nat  and  Aunt 
Martha,  to  whom  she  had  returned.  She  didn't  intend 
to  remain  with  them  much  longer,  so  she  told  Julia, 
but  just  at  that  time  she  didn't  know  what  else  i;)  do. 

' '  You  should  be  mighty  proud  of  that  young  husband 
of  yours,"  Uncle  Nat  had  said,  making  her  read  twice 
over  the  account  of  the  gas  attack.  "And  he's  a  good 
son  or  he  wouldn't  have  told  you  not  to  tell  his  mother. 
He's  a  fine  young  man,  and  I  don't  know  as  he's  far 
wrong  about  the  United  States  having  to  get  in  before 
we're  through.  If  them  Germans  are  doing  the  awful 
things  the  papers  say,  and  now  Peter  says  so,  too,  and 
he  ain't  the  kind  of  a  boy  to  tell  'em  if  they  ain't  so,  it  is 
about  time  we  took  a  hand." 

Bertha  had  skipped  the  part  which  had  to  do  with 
her  remaining  in  Haynesville,  and  had  added  messages 
to  her  aunt  and  uncle,  such  messages  as  Peter  never  had 

128 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

failed  to  send  them  when  he  knew  she  was  with  them. 

' '  I  tell  your  Uncle  Nat  that  you  're  a  lucky  girl.  There 
ain  't  many  girls  got  a  fellow  nowadays  like  him.  Young 
men  ain't  as  steady  as  they  was  when  your  uncle  and 
me  was  married.  They  are  extravagant,  too.  They 
want  to  commence  where  their  fathers  and  mothers  leave 
off.  That's  real  cute  what  he  says  about  the  chaplains 
bein'  real  fellows,  nobody  but  Peter  would  think  of 
saying  such  a  thing.  And  he  saying  they  '  make  a  fellow 
want  to  be  good  instead  of  trying  to  scare  him ! '  I  guess 
maybe  Peter  might  have  been  a  minister  or  something 
like  that  if  he  hadn't  been  a  soldier."  Her  aunt  had 
admired  Peter  from  the  first,  and  never  failed  to  praise 
him  to  Bertha  when  she  had  an  opportunity. 

"Thank  goodness  he  isn't  a  preacher!  Being  a  soldier 
is  bad  enough.  I  don't  understand  him  half  the  time 
now;  I  am  sure  I  shouldn't  at  all  if  he  was  a  min- 
ister." 

"Some  boys  and  girls  is  like  that — like  Peter,"  her 
aunt  went  on.  "They  see  things  different  from  other 
folks.  They  don 't  reason  things  out ;  they  just  feel  'em. 
Now  if  Peter  had  stopped  to  reason  he  would  have  known 
that  it  was  foolish  to  tie  himself  up  by  getting  married 
just  the  very  day  he  went  away,  even  if  the  girl  he 
married  is  my  own  niece.  Not  that  I  ain't  awful  fond  of 
you,  Bertha,  but  I  ain't  blind,  and  I  can  see  that  you 
are  fretting  because  you  ain't  as  free  as  Julia  Lawrence 
and  the  other  girls. ' ' 

"I  should  say  I  was!"  Bertha  exclaimed,  for  just  a 
moment  forgetting  her  usual  prudence,  "I  should  say  I 
was  tired  of  bein'  tied  to  a  man  away  off  in  Europe," 

129 


yet  she  thought  as  she  said  it  that  she  hoped  he  would 
stay  there. 

"Never  mind,  honey,  he'll  perhaps  soon  be  back. 
Think  how  proud  you'll  be  to  be  a  lieutenant's  wifef 
Mrs.  Lieutenant  Moore.  It  sounds  fine. ' ' 

"Oh,  who  cares  how  it  sounds.  I  don't  see  what 
I  ever  married  him  for."  Bertha  took  her  letter  and 
went  to  her  room. 

"Poor  girl,  she's  fretting  over  Mm.  It  is  too  bad  he 
couldn't  have  stayed  with  her  a  little  while.  It's  almost 
like  being  a  widow  to  be  like  she  is, ' '  her  aunt  murmured 
sympathetically,  but  her  uncle  grunted: 

"It's  them  gay  boys  and  girls  she  goes  out  with  that 
ails  her.  It  would  have  been  better  for  her  and  Peter, 
too,  if  she  had  stayed  at  home  with  her  pa  and  ma. ' ' 

Bertha  read  her  letter  over,  this  time  skipping  the 
gas  attack,  and  reading  the  remainder  with  growing 
disgust. 

"Dreaming  of  me  and  his  mother,  was  he?"  she  mut- 
tered. "That  we  were  together!  He'll  know  better 
when  he  wakes  up!  Nice  time  I  would  have  studying- 
with  that  old  woman.  What  does  Peter  Moore  think  I 
am  made  of  I'd  like  to  know?  I'll  see  him  further  be- 
fore I'll  ever  put  my  foot  in  Haynesville  again,"  and 
to  emphasize  her  remark  she  stamped  her  foot  upon  the 
floor  so  loudly  her  aunt  called  up  to  ask  if  she  wanted 
anything. 

Bertha's  aunt  and  uncle  had  no  idea  that  she  had 
concealed  the  fact  that  she  was  married  from  her  em- 
ployer, or  from  her  associates.  They  would  have  been 
inexpressibly  shocked  at  such  deception.  They  were 

130 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

good,  plain,  simple  folk,  really  still  country  folk  in  their 
ideas,  though  they  had  lived  many  years  in  New  York. 
But  in  their  simple  frugal  existence  the  froth  of  city  life 
had  simply  passed  over  them  without  leaving  a  trace. 

Mrs.  Robinson,  however,  was  a  little  anxious  over 
Bertha's  choice  of  companions.  She  liked  Julia  Law- 
rence, but  she  was  not  pleased  when  Bates  Freeman  came 
for  Bertha  in  his  high-powered  car,  or  when  that  or  a 
taxi  honk-honking  at  the  curb  showed  he  had  brought  her 
home  when  she  had  been  out  for  the  evening. 

"Young  things  have  to  have  their  pleasure,"  she  told 
her  husband,  "but  I  am  afraid  sometimes  Bertha  will 
forget  she  is  a  married  woman." 


131 


CHAPTER  XII 

BACK  in  Haynesville  there  was  sorrow.  The  two 
humble  homes  in  which  there  was  neither  son  nor  daugh- 
ter to  brighten  them  seemed  lonelier  than  ever  after 
Bertha  left.  For  even  though  she  had  been  unhappy 
while  with  them,  she  was  young  and  couldn't  always  be 
sad. 

Peter's  mother,  perhaps,  grieved  more  than  did  Mrs. 
Hunter.  Her  grief,  however,  was  not  for  herself.  She 
had  sensed  Bertha's  selfishness  to  the  full;  and  she 
grieved  for  Peter.  She  knew  he  expected  Bertha  to  re- 
main in  Haynesville,  that  he  wished  her  to.  And  she 
also  realized  that  he  hoped  her  being  there  would  be  a 
comfort  to  them  all.  Bertha's  shallowness,  her  utter 
callousness  where  her  parents  were  concerned,  was  un- 
known to  Peter,  and  Peter's  mother  would  be  the  last 
one  to  enlighten  him. 

Mrs.  Moore  would  have  smiled  sadly  and  "poor  Peter" 
would  again  have  been  on  her  lips  could  she  have  read 
that  last  letter  Peter  had  written  Bertha,  the  one  for- 
warded from  Haynesville.  That  Peter  would  think  of 
Bertha 's  offering  to  walk  to  the  factory  with  Mr.  Moore ; 
that  she  would  willingly  read  and  study  with  Peter's 
mother,  and  would  comfort  and  help  her  own  parents, 
was  almost  laughable  if  it  had  not  been  so  sad. 

132 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"I  tremble  for  Peter's  future,"  his  mother  said  as 
she  and  Mr.  Moore  as  usual  read  his  last  letter  over 
before  evening  devotion.  "Now  he  doesn't  seem  to 
realize  Bertha's  selfishness,  her  lack  of  depth  in  the 
least."  Which  was  a  good  deal  for  Peter's  mother  to 
say. 

"Don't  worry,  mother."  Mr.  Moore,  too,  began  to 
understand  more  of  Bertha's  character  when  she  refused 
to  remain  at  home  where  she  was  so  needed  and  where 
Peter,  her  husband,  wished  her  to  stay  since  he  had 
money  enough  to  care  for  her.  "She  is  young  yet. 
She'll  sober  down  and  be  glad  to  come  back  after  a 
while." 

"It  isn't  that  she  is  so  gay,  John.  I  think  Bertha  is 
rather  quiet,  and  I  used  to  think  she  was  sort  of  weak, 
too.  But  she  isn't,  she  is  very  determined.  I  often 
wonder  how  Peter  came  to  marry  her.  He  never  seemed 
to  care  any  more  for  her  than  he  did  for  the  other 
girls." 

"Well,  you  see,  mother,  Peter  saw  her  in  New  York. 
He  didn  't  know  any  girls  there  I  guess,  and  Bertha  made 
it  pleasant  for  him." 

"That  was  it,  father.  They  were  thrown  together 
at  a  time  when  Peter  was  susceptible  to  almost  any  in- 
fluence. His  mind  was  in  a  peculiar  condition.  I 
imagine,  filled  with  thoughts  of  this  war;  and  Ber- 
tha is  very  pretty,  and  can  be  very  sweet  and  ap- 
pealing. ' ' 

"Come,  mother,  let  us  read."  John  Moore  opened 
the  Bible  and  commenced:  "  'Let  not  your  hearts  be 
troubled,  etc.,'  "  while  Peter's  mother,  scarcely  hearing, 

133 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

thought  of  her  boy  so  far  away  in  such  danger,  with  a 
wife  in  New  York  who  neither  seemed  to  think  nor  care 
for  him — and  he  so  young. 

Had  one  heard  John  Moore  pray  for  his  son's  safety, 
they  would  not  have  been  surprised  that  Peter  had 
written  that  he  never  went  into  battle  but  he  thought 
that  back  home  they  were  praying  for  him,  praying  and 
loving,  and  it  helped  a  man  to  feel  sure  someone  was 
doing  that. 

The  simple  soul  of  the  man  was  poured  out  in  an 
appeal  to  his  Maker  that  by  its  very  quietness  and  sim- 
plicity was  the  more  impressive.  His  soldier  son  was 
very  dear  to  John  Moore,  although  he  did  not  have  the 
understanding  of  him  that  the  mother  did. 

In  Bertha's  home  they  were  not  as  religious  but  Mrs. 
Hunter  also  prayed  fervently  that  Bertha  would  come 
to  realize  their  loneliness,  their  need  of  her  and  come 
home.  She  had  not  recovered  her  usual  strength,  and 
the  care  of  the  home,  simple  though  it  was,  left  her 
tired  and  languid. 

"Do  you  think  she  will  come  back?"  she  said  to  her 
husband  as  they  talked  of  Bertha. 

"I  doubt  it!  I'm  disappointed  in  Bertha,  mother.  I 
thought  when  she  came  home  she  was  going  to  stay  and 
help  you — be  a  comfort  to  you.  You  need  her  and  she 
ain't  no  call  to  stay  in  New  York  with  Peter  in  France. 
I'd  like  to  know  how  they  come  to  be  married  in  such  a 
hurry;  he  never  showed  her  any  particular  liking  when 
he  was  here  in  Haynesville, "  he  said,  voicing  the  same 
wonder  as  had  Peter's  mother  at  the  hasty  marriage  of 
the  two. 

134 


' '  Perhaps  he  hadn  't  thought  of  marrying  when  he  was 
here.  And  when  he  got  to  New  York  and  saw  how 
pretty  Bertha  was — she  is  very  pretty  you  know,  Henry ; 
there  ain  't  a  girl  in  Haynesville  can  touch  her  for  looks, ' ' 
with  motherly  pride,  ''he  just  felt  sure  someone  else 
would  get  her  most  likely  if  he  didn't  marry  her  before 
he  went.  I  have  an  idea  them  New  York  girls  ain't  as 
wholesome  as  our  Haynesville  girls  are,"  she  finished. 
Mrs.  Hunter  had  the  same  idea  of  New  York  that  many 
other  country  mothers  have. 

"Well,  it's  too  bad  she  won't  stay  with  you  when  you 
need  her."  Mr.  Hunter's  anxiety  for  his  wife  over- 
shadowed all  else. 

Peter's  mother  answered  his  letter  before  Bertha  had 
again  written.  Indeed,  Bertha's  mind  was  in  such  a 
condition  that  she  could  scarcely  set  herself  at  anything ; 
least  of  all  could  she  write  Peter. 

Mrs.  Moore,  thinking  that  Bertha  had  written,  nat- 
urally referred  to  her  visit,  and  the  fact  that  she  had 
returned  to  New  York. 

"I  was  sorry,  Peter,  that  Bertha  felt  she  could  not 
stay  in  Haynesville,"  she  wrote  her  son.  "It  would 
have  been  a  great  comfort  and  pleasure  to  have  her  near 
us.  Her  own  mother,  too,  feels  disappointed,  but,  of 
course,  Bertha  must  do  as  she  pleases.  She  seems  to 
think  she  could  not  be  happy  in  Haynesville  any  more. 
If  you  were  here  she  would  naturally  feel  very  different. 
She  is  looking  very  well,  and  if  anything  she  grows 
prettier  as  she  grows  older.  She  has  become  very  stylish 
in  her  dress,  and  quite  put  the  Haynesville  girls  in  the 
shade.  You  will  be  very  proud  and  happy  to  be  with 

135 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

her  when  you  come  home.  Your  father  and  I  are  making 
great  plans  for  you. 

"I  wonder  if  you  remember  that  little  cottage  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  on  the  way  to  the  factory — but  of  course 
you  do.  The  one  with  the  honeysuckle  vines  growing 
over  the  front  porch.  Father  has  bought  it  for  you.  It 
was  for  sale,  very  cheap,  and  he  thought  it  a  pity  not 
to  secure  it.  You  can  pay  him  back  when  you  come 
home.  He  is  paying  for  it  on  installments.  It  is  so 
pretty  a  place,  and  I  only  wish  you  and  she  were  there 
now.  Yet,  dear  son,  don't  think  I  wish  you  back;  not 
as  long  as  you  feel  your  duty  lies  over  there. 

"Old  Tom  Brooks  always  asks  for  you.  He  says  he 
now  thinks  we  will  soon  be  in  the  war,  and  that  you 
were  right  to  go.  "We  do  hear  some  war  talk,  more  than 
when  you  left.  But  we  are  so  far  away  I  can't  quite 
believe  we  will  be  obliged  to  take  part  in  it.  Yet  the 
papers  are  giving  up  more  space  to  war  articles.  You 
may  be  sure  I  read  every  word." 

Then  followed  some  town  gossip  and  little  intimate 
things  that  were  of  interest  only  to  Peter  and  herself. 
"When  she  closed  she  told  him  to  be  careful  not  to  run 
into  danger  heedlessly.  That  for  the  sake  of  those  who 
loved  him  it  behooved  him  to  take  care  of  himself  yet 
ever  heeding  his  duties.  And,  wise  mother  that  she  was, 
she  realized  that  Peter  needed  the  caution.  She  sensed 
that  once  engaged  in  the  conflict  he  would  have  almost 
fanatical  disregard  for  his  own  safety. 

Her  letter  was  brought  to  Peter  one  night  when  he 
was  in  the  trenches.  A  cold,  dismal,  rainy  night,  when 
he  was  depressed  because  of  the  weather  and  because  he 

136 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

had  not  heard  from  Bertha.  He  had  gone  over  the  top 
the  day  before,  and  had  seen  his  mates  mowed  down  by 
the  hundreds  when  subjected  to  the  deadly  fire  of  the 
German  guns.  He  had  not  yet  become  accustomed  to 
the  horrors  of  close  conflict,  had  not  become  inured  to 
seeing  the  men  with  whom  he  was  associated  killed  before 
his  eyes.  Not  that  he  ever  flinched,  that  wasn't  Peter's 
way,  but  it  had  a  depressing  effect.  That  day,  too,  one 
of  the  few  young  Canadians  with  whom  he  had  become 
friendly  had  been  taken  prisoner,  and  the  stories  of 
what  had  happened  to  other  prisoners,  things  he  him- 
self had  seen  of  the  frightfulness  of  the  Hun;  did  not 
tend  to  make  him  cheerful.  So  that  he  welcomed  the 
letter  from  his  mother  with  even  greater  joy  than  ever. 

He  read  the  paragraph  in  which  his  mother  told  of 
Bertha's  return  to  New  York  over  twice.  He  could  not 
quite  grasp  it  at  first.  That  she  would  disregard  his 
wishes  did  not  mean  so  much  to  him  as  the  thought  of  the 
disappointment  of  her  refusing  to  live  at  home  would 
mean  to  her  mother,  and  to  his.  Neither  could  he  under- 
stand why  she  could  not  be  happy  in  Haynesville.  It 
was  her  home,  all  her  young  associates  were  there.  Her 
parents  idolized  her  and  were  foolishly  indulgent. 
Had  they  been  different  he  would  not  have  wondered 
so  dazedly  just  why  she  could  not  be  happy  with 
them. 

He  smiled  rather  sadly  when  he  read  how  pretty  she 
was.  Then  he  took  out  the  little  picture  and  gazed  at 
it  as  if  to  refresh  his  memory.  That  his  father  had 
bought  the  little  cottage  touched  him  deeply.  He  knew 
it  meant  self-denial  for  both  his  parents. 

137 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

He  muttered  to  himself,  nodding  his  head  in  ap- 
proval when  he  read  of  old  Tom  Brooks'  belief  that  the 
United  States  would  soon  be  in  the  war.  But  as  a  whole 
the  letter  did  not  cheer  him  very  much;  although 
he  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  murmured  "dear 
mother"  before  he  put  it  carefully  away  in  an  inside 
pocket. 

"It  is  strange  Bertha  doesn't  write,"  he  said  aloud, 
thinking  of  what  his  mother  had  said  of  her  return  to 
New  York.  Then  he  wondered  if  she  had  received  his 
last  letter — the  one  he  had  sent  to  Haynesville,  sure  she 
had  gone  there  to  stay. 

Whatever  Peter's  motives  had  been  in  joining  the 
British  army  they  had  crystallized  into  one  overwhelm- 
ing desire  to  lick  the  Huns.  He  had  seen  one  of  his 
comrades  crucified  by  them,  others  had  been  gassed.  He 
had  seen  mutilated  boys  and  girls,  pale-faced  women  and 
maidens  whose  lips  had  forgotten  how  to  smile  because 
of  what  the  Hun  had  done.  Honest,  legitimate  fighting, 
Peter  understood  and  gloried  in;  but  such  atrocities  as 
were  constantly  committed  by  the  foe  he  could  neither 
understand  nor  forgive. 

"It  wakes  all  the  wild  beast  in  a  man  to  see  and  know 
of  such  things,"  he  said  to  one  of  his  mates  after  a 
particularly  ferocious  attack  in  which  he  had  distin- 
guished himself  by  the  number  of  Germans  he  had  ac- 
counted for  single  handed. 

' '  Gad,  Moore,  but  hi  didn  't  think  it  was  in  you.  Strike 
me  pink  if  hi  did!"  one  of  the  men  who  had  seen  the 
fierceness  with  which  Peter  had  fought  said  to  him. 

138 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"It  makes  my  blood  boil!"  Peter  returned.  "I  see 
red  every  time  I  see  a  Hun. ' ' 

"So  hi  sye,  Yank ! ' '  chimes  in  a  private  who  had  also 
been  a  witness  of  the  stiff  fight  Peter  had  put  up. 
"Gawd  lumme,  we  'ave  got  to  fight  th'  'ole  blinkin'  lot, 
that  we  'ave!" 

From  that  day  on  Peter  was  not  looked  upon  as  quite 
so  reserved,  and  when  he  wasn't  around  he  was  dubbed 
"The  Fighting  Yank"  by  his  comrades.  Their  respect 
for  him  had  increased  tremendously. 

Peter  had  felt  the  thud  of  shrapnel  fragments  on  his 
tin  hat,  he  had  seen  men  in  front  waves  going  down  like 
ten  pins,  men  with  whom  he  had  the  moment  before  stood 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  as  the  next  wave  came  on  he 
was  still  standing  his  ground  with  a  different  companion 
on  either  side.  Men  were  dropping  all  around  him, 
some  of  them  he  knew.  As  they  disappeared  in  a  welter 
of  blood  he  only  fought  the  more  fiercely.  The  thought 
that  he  must  do  their  work  as  well  as  his  own  dimly 
outlined  in  his  mind  forced  him  to  almost  superhuman 
endeavor. 

Peter's  ear  drums  ached,  the  terrific  noise  of  thou- 
sands of  guns  roaring  and  screeching  deafened  him. 
When  it  was  over  about  one-half  of  the  company  was 
gone;  either  killed  or  taken  prisoners.  Peter  hadn't  a 
scratch. 

Peter  was  "jolly  well  done,"  as  the  Tommies  say,  but 
no  one  heard  him  complain.  He  just  flopped  down  and 
rested  a  bit,  ready  to  go  over  again  the  minute  the  call 
came. 

139 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Strangely  enough,  Peter  never  thought  of  Bertha 
either  before  or  after  a  fight.  His  mother  was  in  his 
thoughts,  the  fact  that  she  was  praying  for  him  was  al- 
ways present  as  he  waited  for  the  whistle  to  blow,  and 
then  follow  it  by  blowing  his  own  before  they  went  over 
the  top.  And  when  he  found  himself  safe,  unscratched, 
if  he  gave  that  fact  any  consideration  it  was  because  of 
what  his  mother  had  said ;  because  of  the  knowledge  of 
what  his  safety  meant  to  her. 

Often  Peter  thought  of  those  who  had  ridiculed  his 
ideas  about  the  length  of  the  war,  the  sureness  with  which 
he  had  declared  the  United  States  must  eventually 
"come  in."  He  had  been  almost  constantly  in  action 
for  weeks.  Not  that  fighting  had  been  severe  all  the 
time,  but  he  had  lived  in  dugouts  and  extemporized 
dwellings.  He  wasn't  always  comfortable.  The  mud 
in  the  trenches  was  often  up  to  his  knees  as  he  waded 
down  the  shell-torn  tunnels.  But  Peter  never  was  heard 
to  make  a  complaint.  His  only  desire  seemed  to  be  to 
fight  the  Boche.  He  constantly  talked  to  his  comrades 
during  a  lull  in  the  fighting,  telling  them  that  he  was 
sure  his  country  would  soon  "be  in  it."  His  faith  often 
heartened  the  worn,  tired  men,  who,  because  of  the 
superior  numbers  of  the  Huns,  sometimes  became  dis- 
couraged. 

He  wrote  his  letters  when  taking  the  night-firing.  He 
had  little  time  during  the  day.  He  told  his  mother  that 
he  felt  he  was  constantly  protected  by  her  prayers; 
that  he  hadn't  yet  been  even  scratched  although  he  had 
been  in  some  pretty  tight  places. 

Peter  was  not  at  all  unhappy.  He  was  even  extraor- 

140 


dinarily  cheerful  for  him.  There  was  something  excit- 
ing, something  bracing  in  taking  the  risks  he  did,  and 
coming  through  all  right.  He  literally  packed  up  his' 
troubles  in  his  old  kit  bag,  and  went  on  smiling.  Or 
what  amounted  to  the  same  thing,  he  went  on  being 
cheerful. 

Yet  always  in  his  thoughts,  back  of  everything,  was 
the  wish  that  his  country  would  hurry  up.  That  Amer- 
ica, with  her  millions  of  men,  her  unlimited  wealth, 
would  realize  that  she  also  must  fight  for  the  good  of 
the  world.  The  word  must  was  still  very  prominent  in 
Peter's  lexicon.  He  knew  no  half  measures  would  win 
the  war. 


141 


CHAPTER  XIII 

BERTHA  was  evidently  doing  her  best  to  "get  used" 
to  Bates  Freeman,  as  she  had  said  when  she  asked  for 
more  time.  Bates  had  been  very  patient.  He  thought 
Bertha  looked  tired  and  thin. 

"You  worked  too  hard  taking  care  of  your  mother. 
I  wish  I  had  come  out  there.  I  would  have  made  you 
hire  a  nurse." 

"Oh,  ma  wouldn't  let  a  nurse  come  near  her,"  Ber- 
tha had  declared,  turning  cold,  then  hot,  as  she  always 
did  when  Bates  mentioned  that  he  came  near  following 
her  to  Haynesville. 

"I  would  have  made  her,"  he  replied  with  quiet 
determination.  "It  wasn't  right  for  you  to  take  all  the 
care." 

Bertha  had  developed  nerves.  She  who  before  had 
scarcely  known  the  meaning  of  the  word  was  noticeably 
nervous.  Impatient,  too,  was  she  at  times.  The  long 
strain  she  had  been  under  in  Haynesville,  the  deception 
she  had  been  obliged  to  practice,  the  boredom  of  it  all 
had  affected  her.  Now  that  she  was  back  in  New  York 
it  was  no  better.  Bates  was  kind,  but  he  was  anxious 
to  marry  and  was  accustomed  to  doing  as  he  wanted. 
Bertha's  constant  excuses  had  begun  to  wear  on  him. 
Not  that  he  suspected  anything  wrong,  but  he  imagined 

142 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

she  was  putting  him  off  because  she  was  not  ready  to 
marry.  He  considered  that  a  foolish  reason  if  she  loved 
him,  and  so  told  her. 

"You  are  old  enough  to  marry,  and  I  surely  am.  I 
have  more  money  than  we  can  spend.  Why  do  you 
keep  putting  me  off  ?  Don 't  you  love  me  ? ' ' 

"You  know  I  do!"  Bertha  declared  and  she  meant  it. 
She  did  love  Bates  Freeman  more  than  she  loved  anyone 
else  in  the  world.  That  is,  she  thought  she  did.  She 
certainly  loved  what  he  could  do  for  her.  The  things 
his  money  made  possible.  Bates  never  thought  of 
Bertha  as  mercenary — not  like  other  girls  he  had  known. 
She  never  had  been  bold  in  asking  for  anything,  although 
she  had  accepted  all  he  had  offered.  That  the  thought 
of  Peter  had  made  her  demands  modest  he,  of  course, 
did  not  know. 

"Then  let's  not  wait  any  longer.  I'll  take  you  away 
somewhere,  anywhere  you  want  to  go,  and  let  you  be  as 
quiet  as  you  like  until  you  get  rested. ' ' 

Had  Bertha  appeared  more  willing,  more  anxious,  to 
marry  Bates  Freeman  he  would  not,  perhaps,  so  have 
urged  his  suit.  But  her  very  unwillingness;  her  draw- 
ing back  when  he  felt  so  sure  of  her ;  had  enhanced  her 
value  in  his  eyes.  Now  he  was  getting  weary  of  being 
put  off.  He  had  persuaded  himself  that  he  was  very 
much  in  love  with  Bertha,  that  no  one  else  would  make 
him  such  a  wife — that  he  never  would  care  for  another 
girl  as  he  did  for  her.  And  Bates  had  had  experi- 
ence. 

Bertha  was  the  only  girl  he  ever  had  known  who 
piqued  him  by  refusing  him  anything  he  wanted.  So 

143 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

she  continued  putting  him  off  only  made  his  desire  for 
her  more  keen. 

"What  shall  I  do,  Julia?"  moaned  Bertha  after  tell- 
ing her  chum  that  Bates  was  getting  so  impatient  she* 
could  put  him  off  no  longer.  "I  shall  have  to  tell  him 
about  Peter." 

' '  You  're  a  fool ! ' '  Julia  snapped.    ' '  A  perfect  fool ! ' ' 

' '  What  else  can  I  do  ?  "  Bertha  wailed.  She  really  was 
most  miserable  and  unhappy.  She  was  weak,  but  not 
wicked.  There  was  nothing  she  could  do.  Nothing  but 
confess  her  deception.  Bates  would  hate  her,  of  course ; 
all  her  good  times  would  be  over.  And  he  would  tell 
others ;  if  he  didn  't,  they  would  find  out  some  way,  and 
she  would  be  plain  Mrs.  Moore,  Peter's  wife,  the  rest  of 
her  life,  instead  of  Bertha  Moore,  pretty  millinery  sales- 
woman in  a  smart  shop,  a  girl  with  whom  all  the  fellows 
were  glad  to  be  seen. 

"I'm  nothing  but  an  old  married  woman,"  she  said, 
the  result  of  her  cogitations. 

"Married  nothing!  If  I  wasn't  married  more  than 
you  are  I  shouldn't  consider  I  was  married  at  all.  You 
never  lived  with  him.  He  went  off  and  left  you  alone. 
Married!  Pshaw!"  said  Julia. 

Peter,  with  his  tender  thoughts,  his  feeling  of  respon- 
sibility and  absolute  faithfulness,  even  in  his  mind  to- 
ward Bertha,  would  have  been  shocked  could  he  have 
known  how  lightly  her  marriage  with  him  was  held  by 
her  friends.  Marriage  to  him  meant  allegiance.  Noth- 
ing could  alter  that  fact.  "Those  whom  God  had  joined 
together"  remained  together,  in  Haynesville.  No  one 
ever  separated  or  divorced,  there.  Julia's  ideas  were 

144 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

unknown  to  Haynesville  folk,  and  Bertha  was  a  Haynes- 
ville  product,  in  spite  of  her  weakness  of  character.  She 
could  not  grasp  Julia's  viewpoint,  "not  to  save  her  life/' 
as  she  told  her  when  the  argument  became  heated,  and 
Julia  urged  her  to  go  on  and  marry  Bates,  trusting  to 
luck  that  Peter  never  would  show  up  or  learn  of  it. 

As  time  passed  it  was  apparent  to  Peter's  clear  vision 
that  the  titanic  conflict  in  which  nations  were  engaged 
was  one  in  which  he  inevitably  must  have  borne  a  part ; 
and  that  in  time  all  America  would  also  come  to  see  the 
inevitableness  of  it.  For  it  was  not  a  struggle  of  peoples, 
but  of  governments,  or  rather  over  systems  of  govern- 
ment. Where  in  the  one  case  the  people  were  to  be 
protected;  in  the  other  they  were  used  as  pawns  acting 
in  defiance  of  all  decent  and  ethical  rules  that  should 
govern  human  beings. 

Peter  often  said  to  himself  that  Germany's  revolting 
departure  from  all  the  codes  of  civilization;  from  all 
that  went  for  decency  and  right  living  would  eventually 
unify  the  world.  That  it  must,  because  in  time  all  other 
nations  would  instinctively  unite  to  crush  out  her  fright- 
fulness,  to  oppose  her. 

There  was  one  man  to  whom  Peter  now  occasionally 
talked  of  what  was  in  his  heart.  A  French  officer  be- 
tween whom  and  himself  had  sprung  an  esprit  de  corps. 
The  Frenchman,  Monsieur  Albert,  was,  like  Peter,  made 
of  finer  clay  than  many  of  his  companions.  The  two  had 
drifted  together,  their  intimacy  fostered  by  Peter's  de- 
sire to  learn  the  language  and  the  Frenchman's  willing- 
ness to  help  him. 


145 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

This  man,  educated,  aristocratic,  refined  and  brave, 
was  in  many  ways  a  wonderful  companion  for  Peter  at 
this  time.  A  Parisian,  speaking  purest  French,  he  en- 
couraged Peter  in  his  studies  by  giving  up  much  of  his 
spare  time  to  talking  with  him.  Peter  returned  his  kind- 
ness in  every  way  possible.  Always  he  shared  his  moth- 
er's boxes  of  goodies  with  his  friend;  always  divided 
anything  he  had  with  him.  Monsieur  Albert's  family 
had  been  absolutely  impoverished  by  the  war,  and  he 
thoroughly  appreciated  the  American's  attempt  to  repay 
him. 

Peter  discovered,  to  his  delight,  that  the  Frenchman 
was  conversant  with  American  literature.  Some  of  the 
books  he  talked  of  Peter  had  read  since  he  had  been  in 
France.  Others  he  scarcely  knew  existed.  Monsieur 
Albert,  anxious  to  forget  the  horrors  of  the  war,  the  mur- 
der of  many  of  his  relatives,  the  loss  of  his  revenues  and 
his  home,  was  almost  as  interested  in  the  study  of  Amer- 
ica as  was  Peter  in  learning  of  the  literature  and  people 
of  France. 

One  day  monsieur  caught  Peter  looking  at  Bertha's 
picture.  Peter's  first  thought  had  been  to  hide  it.  His 
cogitations  had  not  been  wholly  pleasant.  Then  im- 
pulsively he  extended  it  with  the  words : 

"A  picture  of  my  wife,  Monsieur  Albert." 

"Oh!"  the  Frenchman  gasped  in  admiration  of  the 
piquantly  pretty  face  in  the  cheap  little  frame. 
"Madame  est  tres  belle." 

"0~k,  oui!  surement,  je  vous  assure.''  Peter  answered 
with  a  laugh,  using  a  phrase  the  Frenchman  had  but 
lately  taught  him.  Yet  he  had  aired  his  French  more  to 

146 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

f?ct  a  chance  to  collect  himself  than  for  any  other  reason. 
In  some  way  he  disliked  the  thought  of  answering  any 
questions  about  her,  although,  of  course,  he  had  a  certain 
pride  in  Bertha 's  beauty.  Yet,  after  all,  there  was  some- 
thing missing  in  Peter's  thoughts  of  his  wife.  He  did 
not  acknowledge  it,  but  he  would  have  liked  to  think 
of  her  as  more  perfect  in  every  way  than  all  the  other 
women  in  the  world  save  only  his  mother.  Not  that  he 
allowed  himself  to  find  fault  with  Bertha  even  in  his 
thought,  but  her  refusal  to  remain  in  Haynesville,  the 
careless  tone  of  her  letters,  her  persistent  rejection  of  his 
plea  that  she  inform  herself  of  things  pertaining  to  his 
life  as  a  soldier,  were  beginning  to  affect  him  without 
his  being  aware  of  it.  So  when  Monsieur  Albert  reluc- 
tantly relinquished  the  picture,  Peter  put  it  away,  and 
immediately  changed  the  subject. 

Peter  came  to  realize  during  these  strenuous  days  that 
war  was  a  very  real  business.  He  came  to  see  that  sol- 
diering required  all  there  was  in  a  man.  All  the 
punch,  the  grit,  the  nerve — and  all  the  religion.  That 
he  had  grown  since  he  entered  the  war  he  knew. 
Strangely,  until  her  refusal  to  remain  in  Haynesville,  he 
never  had  thought  of  Bertha  save  as  growing  also.  She, 
in  his  thoughts  always  had  kept  pace  with  him;  had 
walked  side  by  side  with  him  in  spirit.  Now  he  occa- 
sionally had  a  doubt  of  her  understanding  of  him,  of  his 
idea  of  life  and  things ;  stll  it  was  not  strong  enough  to 
worry  him. 

He  recalled  how  Bertha  clung  to  him  in  those  short 
visits  he  made  her  when  on  leave ;  how  happy  she  seemed 
riding  on  the  buses,  or  sitting  in  a  moving-picture  theater 

147 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

watching  the  screen.  He  hadn't  the  slightest  idea  that 
even  then  she  was  not  en  rapport  with  him;  that  her 
spirit  and  his  were  as  far  apart  as  the  poles — almost  as 
far  as  they  now  were.  He  had  no  conception  that  it  was 
New  York,  not  he,  that  had  lured  Bertha  on;  that  it 
was  the  city's  fascination,  not  her  fear  of  losing  him, 
that  made  her  want  to  marry  him  before  he  left.  It  is 
doubtful  if  he  could  have  understood  had  he  been  told. 
Such  a  thing  was  so  foreign  to  his  nature,  and  would 
have  been  so  impossible  to  him. 

Peter  Moore  had  many  fine  qualities  which  the  war 
had  developed.  Since  he  had  been  made  a  second  lieuten- 
ant he  had  the  more  strenuously  tried  to  be  the  man  he, 
in  his  inmost  thoughts  wished  to  be.  He  must  be  an 
example  to  his  men.  Peter  had  not  failed  to  keep  the 
word  must  before  him  over  there,  just  as  it  had  been  in 
his  mind  at  home. 

At  first  the  abomination  of  the  battlefields  was,  to  a 
certain  degree,  nerve-racking  to  the  Haynesville  boy. 
The  shell-holes  into  which  he  stumbled,  the  trenches  zig- 
zagging in  a  sort  of  maze  which  at  first  confused  him, 
the  hands  and  feet  and  the  faces  of  the  dead  which  sick- 
ened him,  were  racking  in  their  own  way.  But 
now  he  could  pick  himself  up  from  the  shellhole, 
find  his  way  through  the  maze  of  the  trenches,  and 
step  over  the  dead  without  scarcely  giving  any  of  these 
things  a  thought.  He  was  doing  his  duty.  No  hardships, 
no  horrors  could  interfere  with  that. 

Peter  was  still  almost  continually  in  action.  His  es- 
capes were  marvelous.  Shrapnel  falling  all  about  him, 
shells  bursting  almost  under  his  feet,  yet  he  had  so  far 
come  through  unscathed.  His  men  whispered  to  each 

148 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

other  that  he  had  a  charmed  life,  that  it  was  good  to  be 
under  him. 

If  Peter  had  to  "go  west,"  as  the  Tommies  spoke 
of  their  passing,  he  would  go  very  quietly.  The  thought 
of  his  mother 's  grief,  his  father 's  loneliness  was  the  only 
disturbing  factor.  Someway,  whenever  his  mind  turned 
in  that  direction,  which  was  seldom,  he  never  thought  of 
Bertha  save  in  an  inconsequential  sort  of  a  way.  He 
never  visualized  her  as  grieving.  He  remembered  he  had 
his  insurance  for  her,  that  was  all. 

One  night  when  charging  the  Huns  Second  Lieutenant 
Moore  was  knocked  down  by  a  shell  explosion.  He  lost 
consciousness  for  some  time.  Then,  in  spite  of  his 
wounds,  he  began  to  search  for  his  men  lying  dead  and 
wounded  all  about  him.  For  three  hours  he,  assisted 
by  a  sergeant  of  his  detachment,  helped  his  wounded  men 
back  to  the  trenches ;  part  of  the  time  under  the  fire  of 
German  guns,  the  bursting  of  shells.  Then  just  as  he 
dragged  a  corporal  into  safety  he  again  collapsed. 

When  Peter  regained  consciousness  he  was  in  the  hos- 
pital. A  doctor  and  a  Red  Cross  nurse  were  working 
over  him,  deftly  dressing  the  wounds,  which  were  pain- 
ful, but  they  hoped  not  serious. 

"A  good  rest  for  you,  my  boy!"  the  doctor  said  as 
the  last  bandage  was  adjusted.  "It  will  be  some  time 
before  you'll  get  another  shot  at  a  Boche.  They  tell  me 
you  kept  going  for  hours  after  the  damned  Germans  got 
you.  If  all  the  Americans  are  made  of  the  same  stuff  you 
are  I  wish  they  would  hurry  them  along,"  the  French 
surgeon  grumbled  as  he  left  him. 

Peter  smiled  into  the  eyes  of  his  nurse,  then  slept. 

The  next  day  the  same  clear-eyed  nurse  brought  him 

149 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Bertha 's  long-delayed  letter.  He  let  it  lie  on  his  coverlet 
unopened  for  a  while  as  he  watched  the  nurse  go  from 
cot  to  cot,  always  smiling  with  her  lips,  although  her  eyes 
were  sad.  She  talked  French  to  the  wounded  poilus, 
calling  them  "mes  enfants,"  and  they  spoke  of  her  as 
"Petite  mere  de  mon  coeur."  She  humored  her  "en- 
fants," the  bearded  poilu,  and  the  smoothed-cheeked 
British  Tommies.  Peter  wished  it  were  time  for  her  to 
come  to  him.  Would  she  call  him  her  "baby,"  too?  He 
was  so  glad  he  had  studied  French.  For,  although  he 
did  not  have  a  large  vocabulary  as  yet,  he  spoke  with  a 
fairly  good  accent,  thanks  to  Monsieur  Albert.  He  would 
not  be  ashamed  to  talk  with  her. 

He  looked  around  the  large  room  in  which  he  lay 
with  so  many  other  wounded  men.  An  improvised  hos- 
pital close  behind  the  lines  used  for  those  too  severely 
wounded  to  be  moved  any  distance.  Men  of  varied  types, 
ages  and  of  different  nationalities.  But  all  suffering 
bravely.  Some  bearded  faces  looked  grotesque  enough 
with  all  but  the  beard  and  eyes  covered  with  bandages. 
Some  were  there  whose  eyes  were  gone;  others  so  bulg- 
ing with  protective  casts  and  splints  that  they  had  lost 
all  semblance  of  human  shape,  and  still  others  with  thin, 
pain-racked  bodies,  and  boyish  faces  that  Peter  thought 
needed  a  mother's  love  more  than  anything  else;  even 
though  one  or  two  of  them  had  the  war  cross  pinned  over 
their  beds. 

Some  of  the  men  she  joked  with,  and  Peter  almost  for- 
got his  pain  trying  to  follow  her  colloquial  French. 
Book  French  was  one  thing ;  French  in  a  hospital  cheer- 
ing wounded  poilus  was  another.  He  turned  painfully, 

150 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

slowly,  on  his  pillow  that  he  might  follow  her  with  his 
eyes  as  she  made  her  rounds.  How  gentle,  how  kind,  how 
gay  she  seemed!  It  was  almost  worth  being  hurt — al- 
most! nothing  could  quite  compensate  for  being  obliged 
to  lie  there  doing  nothing  while  there  were  still  Roches 
to  kill,  no,  nothing ! 

Peter  was  all  soldier.    The  war  was  his  job. 

Just  as  these  thoughts  filtered  through  his  brain,  his 
hand  touched  the  forgotten  letter  laid  on  the  coverlet. 
He  painfully  turned  back  again  on  his  pillow.  He  would 
not  face  the  nurse  while  he  read  it.  Had  he  been  asked 
to  explain  this  feeling,  he  would  not  have  been  able  to 
do  so.  It  was  just  one  of  Peter's  impressions. 


151 


CHAPTER  XIV 

BERTHA  commenced  her  letter  as  usual: 

"Dear  Peter:  As  you  see  I  am  back  in  New  York. 
Why  you  should  have  expected  me  to  stay  in  Haynes- 
ville  I  don 't  know,  but  you  may  as  well  understand  that 
I  shall  never  live  there  again.  After  living  in  New 
York  it  would  be  too  awfully  slow.  I  know,  because  I" 
nearly  died  when  I  was  there  taking  care  of  mother. 
I  shall  stay  right  here  in  New  York.  I  have  a  nice  po- 
sition, and  I  have  the  right  to  stay  where  I  please.  I 
don 't  see  why  you  think  it  is  my  duty  to  stay  home  now 
that  I  am  married,  or  why  you  expect  me  to  spend  my 
time  with  old  people  like  your  folks  and  mine. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  are  always  talking  about  the 
United  States  getting  into  the  fight — just  because 
you're  an  American  and  wanted  to  go  to  war,  you  seem 
to  think  every  other  American  should  do  so,  too.  No 
one  talks  war  here.  Old  Tom  Brooks  is  the  only  one  I 
heard  say  much  about  it  in  Haynesville,  and  he  wouldn't 
if  it  wasn't  for  those  queer  letters  you  write  your 
mother.  She  lets  him  read  some  of  them. 

"Don't  worry  about  me  telling  your  mother  about 
that  gas  attack.  I  didn't  get  your  letter  until  I  got 
back  to  New  York,  and  I  don't  get  time  to  write  many 
letters.  I  know  some  awfully  nice  Germans.  I  don't 

152 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

see  why  you  talk  so  about  them.  Of  course  I  don't  know 
the  high-toned  ones,  and  I  guess  you  think  them  the 
worst  by  your  letter.  Of  course,  they  want  to  win  the 
war.  That's  what  they  are  fighting  for.  I  do  think  you 
are  silly  to  waste  your  time  writing  about  them  since 
you  asked  me.  And  I  don't  have  any  time  to  learn 
French. 

"You  wanted  to  know  how  your  mother  and  father 
looked.  They  are  about  the  same,  though  I  guess  they 
are  both  a  little  grayer,  but  then  they  ain't  getting 
younger.  My  mother's  hair  is  awful  white  and  she  is 
younger  than  your  mother. 

' '  Of  course  I  couldn  't  give  that  queer  message  to  the 
minister  when  I  didn't  get  your  letter  till  I  got  back 
here.  But  it  was  a  silly  message,  anyway.  The  idea  of 
a  chaplain  making  you  want  to  be  good  instead  of  scar- 
ing you  into  it.  Whoever  heard  of  any  one  being  scared 
into  being  good.  You  say  such  funny  things.  I  don't 
understand  them  at  all. 

"I  guess  you  are  having  a  pretty  good  time  over 
there  even  if  you  do  have  to  fight.  Well,  there  ain't 
anything  more  to  say,  so  good-bye,  with  love,  BERTHA." 

Had  Peter  known  that  Bertha  was  scarcely  able  to 
write  at  all  because  of  her  nervousness,  he  would,  per- 
haps, not  have  been  quite  so  disappointed  over  her  let- 
ter. But  he  knew  nothing  of  her  save  what  she  told  in 
her  short,  infrequent  notes,  and  slow  tears  welled  up 
into  his  eyes  as  he  read  the  letter  which  had  been  so 
long  in  coming. 

He  brushed  them  impatiently  away  as  he  heard  a 
soft  voice  say: 

153 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Is  my  American  better  to-day?" 

"Oui,  mademoiselle,"  then  "You  can  speak  English?" 

"Why,  yes!  I  am  a  Canadian.  I  hope  you  had  good 
news  from  home,"  she  glanced  at  the  letter  crushed  in 
his  hand. 

"No  bad  news  at  least,"  he  replied,  attempting 
a  smile ;  but  it  had  so  little  joy  in  it  that  the  nurse, 
quick  to  perceive,  changed  the  subject,  thinking  "poor 
fellow!  if  they  only  knew  what  letters  did  to  the  boys 
over  here  they  would  never  send  any  but  nice  ones. ' ' 

Peter  was  in  great  pain,  yet  he  scarcely  sensed  it,  so 
happy  did  he  feel  that  at  last  his  turn  to  be  "  mothered ' ' 
had  arrived.  By  every  little  pretext  he  could  think  of 
he  kept  her  by  him  until,  with  a  laugh,  she  declared : 

"My  others  need  me  now,  Americaine." 

1 '  Come  again, ' '  he  said,  clinging  to  her  fingers,  as  she 
once  more  smoothed  the  coverlet,  and  gave  his  pillow  a 
little  pat. 

"Of  course!"  she  smiled  back  into  his  longing  eyes 
frankly. 

After  she  left  him,  Peter's  thoughts  again  reverted  to 
Bertha,  to  her  letter.  In  spite  of  his  bodily  pain  the 
mental  anguish  he  endured  was  for  the  moment  far 
greater.  His  life  was  indissolubly  linked  with  Bertha 's, 
and  for  the  first  time  he  realized  something  of  the  gulf 
between  them. 

Yet  even  now  he  did  not  blame  her,  he  blamed  him- 
self. He  should  have  waited  until  after  the  war.  He 
had  no  right  to  marry  her  and  then  leave  her  as  he  had 
done.  Of  course  she  couldn  't  understand.  She  was  just 
a  girl.  He,  as  usual,  apologized  for  her  as  he  tore  the 

154 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 


letter  into  tiny  fragments.  He  was  pretty  sick,  he  might 
' ' go  west. "  He  mustn't  let  any  one  know ;  no  one  must 
see  that  letter  that  told  so  much,  yet  said  so  little. 

He  tucked  the  torn  pieces  of  paper  under  his  pillow. 
That  night  when  the  nurse  made  her  rounds,  he  was  un- 
conscious again.  In  trying  to  ease  him  the  tiny  scraps 
of  the  torn  letter  came  from  under  the  pillow. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  murmured,  and  strangely  she  had 
the  same  tone  in  her  voice  that  his  mother  had  when  she 
said  "poor  Peter." 

That  night  as  Peter  lay  tossing  in  delirium  a  New 
York  paper  listed  among  its  casualties  the  name  of 
Second  Lieutenant  Peter  Moore  as  being  seriously 
wounded. 

Bertha  had  heard  the  newsboys  calling  "Wextra" 
and  as  business  was  dull  just  then  she  stepped  to  the  door 
of  the  shop  and  bought  a  paper.  She  was  to  see  Bates 
Freeman  that  evening.  She  knew  that  he  must  have 
some  sort  of  an  answer  from  her,  that  she  could  "string 
him,"  as  Julia  expressed  it,  no  longer. 

She  opened  the  paper  carelessly,  read  without  interest 
the  war  news  which  the  great  paper's  editor  had  thought 
worthy  of  publishing  in  an  extra  edition,  then  idly 
turned  the  sheets.  Just  as  idly  she  ran  her  eye  down  the 
list  of  killed  and  wounded.  Under  ' '  seriously  wounded ' ' 
she  read: 

"Second  Lieutenant  Peter  Moore,  wounded  in  action." 
That  was  all.  Her  eyes  hesitated — then  went  back. 

"Second  Lieutenant  Peter  Moore,  wounded  in  action." 
Then  she  raised  them  to  the  line  above:  "Seriously 
wounded. ' ' 

155 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 


The  paper  fluttered  from  her  hands  to  the  floor. 
Weakly  she  sat  down  in  one  of  the  straight,  high-backed 
chairs  reserved  for  customers.  Her  eyes  stared  straight 
ahead,  but  all  she  saw  was  the  name  of  her  husband,  the 
man  who  was  in  her  way,  among  the  seriously  wounded. 

Julia  came  into  the  room  and  found  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  Bertha?  Anyone  would  think 
you  had  seen  a  ghost,  you're  so  white.  Are  you  sick?" 

"No "  Bertha's  lips  formed  the  word,  but  no 

sound  escaped  them.  Her  glance  at  the  paper  told  Julia 
that  something  serious  had  happened. 

Stooping,  Julia  picked  up  the  paper.  It  had  fallen 
with  the  lists  of  casualties  uppermost.  The  very  first 
thing  Julia  saw  was  the  name  of  Peter  Moore.  ' '  Second 
Lieutenant  Peter  Moore,  wounded  in  action." 

' '  Gee ! ' '  she  fairly  exploded,  ' '  some  people  are  lucky. ' ' 

"Lucky — what  do  you  mean?"  Bertha  asked  in  a  little 
voice  that  sounded  far  off. 

"Why — it  leaves  you — free."  Julia  stammered  a  lit- 
tle over  the  cold-blooded  speech. 

"Free — why,  Julia,  he  ain't "  Bertha  could  not 

bring  herself  to  say  the  word.  But  Julia  understood. 

"He  may  be  by  now.  It  says  he  was  seriously 
wounded.  Perhaps  you  will  hear  more  by  night.  It 
costs  a  lot  to  telephone  that  outlandish  place  where  his 
mother  lives,  but  if  I  was  you  I'd  call  her  up.  Maybe 

she's  had  a  cable  saying  he's "  Even  Julia  had  also 

hesitated  to  say  the  dread  word. 

"Julia,"  Bertha  said,  her  face  growing  still  whiter, 
"I've  got  to  tell  Bates  to-night.  He  won't  wait  a  min- 
ute longer.  He  said  so.  I  can't  stand  it  any  longer, 

156 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

anyway,  Julia.  I  am  just  going  to  tell  him  the  truth. 
It  can't  be  any  worse  than  it  is  now.  I  am  almost  crazy ! 
and  now — this,"  she  pointed  to  the  paper. 

"  You're  sick,  Bertha !  You  go  home  with  me  to-night. 
Don't  try  to  think  about  anything.  I'll  telephone 
Bates  that  you  were  taken  sick  in  the  store.  I'll  tend 
to  it  all,  you  won't  have  to  think  about  anything." 

Bertha  nodded.  She  was  past  speech.  Yet  she  would 
have  been  surprised  could  she  have  heard  what  Julia 
told  Bates  Freeman  a  few  moments  later. 

' '  She  fainted  dead  away  waiting  on  a  customer,  Bates. 
She  is  awful  sick.  She  scared  us  all  most  to  death.  The 
boss  or  some  one  is  going  to  tend  to  her.  I'll  let  you 
k'now  in  the  morning  if  she's  back.  Of  course,  it  may 
not  be  anything  much,  just  tired  out." 

''You  are  sure  it  isn't  any  worse  than  you're  telling 
me?"  Bates  asked,  such  real  concern  in  his  voice  Julia 
winced  a  little  at  her  deceit. 

''Sure!  she's  worn  out,  that's  all." 

"Don't  I  know  it!  She's  been  nursing  her  mother 
and  doing  all  the  housework  too !  It  makes  me  feel  like 
a  dog.  She  hasn't  been  the  same  since  she  came  back. 
She 's  as  nervous  as  can  be.  Jumps  at  every  little  thing. 
You  wait  until  she  gets  over  this  and  I  will  carry  her 
away  whether  she  consents  or  not. ' ' 

"Oh,  she'll  be  willing.  She  told  me  she  was  going 
to  tell  you  to-night. ' ' 

' '  Keally !  Well,  then  that 's  settled  and  I  can  go  ahead 
and  plan  where  to  go.  I  was  going  to  leave  it  to  her, 
but  I  guess  I'll  attend  to  it  myself.  We'll  get  away  to 
some  nice,  quiet,  restful  place  as  soon  as  possible. ' ' 

157 


"That's  the  thing!    She's  worn  out,"  Julia  repeated. 

Peter  had  been  in  the  hospital  only  three  days  yet  he 
was  deeply,  madly  in  love.  He  was  in  love  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life.  And  there  never  had  been  anything  so 
wonderful,  so  golden.  For  a  bit  he  fairly  reveled  in  the 
knowledge  of  his  love.  He  had  no  thought  of  her  loving 
him.  It  was  almost  unbearable  joy  to  love  her.  Pain, 
wounds,  everything  was  for  the  moment  subservient  to 
that  one  thought,  that  one  emotion. 

Madeline  Dawson,  the  clear-eyed  Canadian  nurse,  was 
the  one  woman,  the  only  woman  in  the  world.  Then  a 
sharp  pity  for  himself  tore  at  him.  Bertha's  face  had 
come  before  him.  He  had  for  the  first  time  known  the 
influence  of  a  real  woman,  a  woman  like  his  mother,  yet 
so  unlike.  For  Madeline  was  young,  beautiful,  vital.  A 
fit  mate  for  a  soldier. 

His  thoughts  shifted  and  he  wondered  if  she,  Made- 
line, had  a  lover.  Of  course,  she  had.  No  one  knowing 
her  could  help  loving  her.  Even  the  bearded  poilus  were 
like  lambs  when  she  was  around.  How  could  any  one 
resist  her.  It  wasn't  his  fault.  But  he  must  not  let  her 
know  he  cared  for  her.  He  was  married,  and  it  might 
make  her  unhappy. 

Peter  was  unaware  how  the  heart  hunger  in  his  eyes 
had  caused  Madeline  Dawson  to  bestow  even  more  of  her 
thoughts  upon  him  than  she  usually  bestowed  on  her 
other  enfants.  How  his  handsome  earnest  face,  his  re- 
fined language,  the  occasional  glimpses  she  had  had  of 
the  man's  soul  had  stirred  the  girl. 

The  war,  the  principle  for  which  men  were  fighting, 
and  for  which  women  were  dying  a  thousand  deaths, 

158 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

had  deeply  stirred  these  two,  so  strangely  thrown  to- 
gether. Madeline  had  imagined  there  was  more  than  a 
patient 's  interest  in  his  nurse  in  the  look  he  bent  on  her 
in  the  last  few  hours,  but  it  was  only  a  shadowy  con- 
viction which  she  immediately  dismissed  with  an  impa- 
tient gesture;  but  it  left  a  lingering  melancholy  sweet- 
ness of  which  she  could  not  so  easily  rid  herself. 

Emotions  were  quickly  excited  in  such  times  as  they 
were  passing  through.  So  she  was  not  shocked  as  she 
otherwise  might  have  been  when  the  idea  that  Peter  was 
falling  in  love  with  her,  obtruded.  But  work  filled  her 
life,  it  must  for  as  long  as  the  war  lasted.  Then  ?  Here 
her  thoughts  halted. 

Had  Peter  been  an  older  man  perhaps  such  thoughts 
would  never  have  arisen  in  Madeline  Dawson's  mind. 
But  Peter  was  so  young,  so  boyish,  so  really  spiritual 
in  his  outlook  on  life  that  Madeline  never  thought  of 
him  as  possibly  married,  or  as  having  a  sweetheart.  That 
torn  letter  had  been  from  a  woman.  But  no  soldier  tears 
up  his  sweetheart's  letters.  That  she  had  learned  since 
she  had  been  in  the  hospital. 

Peter  had  a  raging  fever.  He  had  instinctively  felt 
the  presence  of  an  inner  disturbance,  and  with  almost 
his  mother 's  prescience  he  sensed  that  Madeline  had  dis- 
covered his  secret.  He  was  not  so  well  in  the  morning. 
The  long,  sleepless  night,  when  in  the  dark  the  fact  im- 
pressed itself  upon  his  brain  that  he  had  no  right  to 
think  of  Madeline  Dawson,  that  he  was  a  married  man 
and  wronged  both  her  and  himself  by  his  disloyal 
thoughts,  had  increased  his  fever  to  an  alarming  extent. 

Slowly  Peter  grew  better  again.  Then  he  was  inva- 

159 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

lided  home  with  the  rank  of  first  lieutenant  given  him 
for  his  bravery  the  night  he  was  wounded.  But  it  was 
of  slight  comfort  to  him.  To  get  back  to  his  men,  to  the 
trenches,  to  kill  the  Boches  before  they  could  do  more 
harm  meant  more  to  him  than  promotion. 

But  Peter  was  a  soldier.  So  he  did  as  was  ordered  and 
started  for  home  a  thin,  pale  wraith  of  the  robust  country 
boy  who  a  year  before  had  left  Haynesville. 

"I'll  soon  be  back,"  he  told  his  colonel,  as  the  older 
man  bade  him  good-bye.  Peter  had  endeared  himself  to 
all  his  superiors  as  well  as  to  those  under  him. 

' '  God  grant  it,  my  boy !  we  need  such  as  you.  He  only 
knows  how  badly." 

"I  shall  come  back,"  Peter  told  Madeline  Dawson  as 
he  held  her  fingers  in  his  close  clasp.  "I  shall  see  you 
again. ' ' 

' '  I  hope  so — Peter  Moore, ' '  she  said  quaintly  with  her 
quiet  smile,  then  turned  away  to  hide  her  tears. 

"I  shall  come  back,"  Peter  told  his  men  when  they 
came  to  say  farewell  to  him. 

"Be  sure  you  do!"  they  replied,  "we  can't  fight  so 
well  without  you. ' ' 

' '  I  shall  come  back, ' '  Peter  said  to  himself  as  he  gave 
a  last  long  look  at  the  receding  shores  of  England,  "I 
shall  come  back,  and  America  will  come  with  me. ' ' 

Peter 's  mother  said  when  she  knew  he  was  on  his  way 
home: 

"He  will  go  back,  father,  as  soon  as  he  is  able,"  and 
Peter's  father  did  not  gainsay  her. 


160 


Madelaine  Dawson  had  been  among  the  first  to  hear  of 
his  commission  and  to  congratulate  him. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT  last! 

America  was  awake.  The  sinking  of  the  Lusitania 
had  rippled  the  surface  of  her  lethargy.  Other  things 
had  happened  which  stirred  a  little  deeper.  Then  one 
April  day  war  was  declared  against  Grermany  by  the 
United  States,  and  the  cause  of  the  Allies  became  her 
cause. 

What  led  up  to  this  declaration  is  too  well  known  to 
need  repetition,  but  the  joy  it  brought  to  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  patriotic  men  and  women  who  were  willing 
to  fight  and  to  suffer  for  the  sake  of  democracy,  of  world 
freedom  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Hun,  can  never  be  ade- 
quately told.  Men  and  women,  who,  like  Peter,  felt  so 
keenly  that  the  nation  had  been  laggard,  but  who  never 
had  spoken  of  it  because  too  loyal  to  criticize. 

It  happened  the  day  Peter  landed  in  Canada.  He 
was  to  rest  in  a  Canadian  port  where  the  ship  filled  with 
wounded  had  landed.  Peter  forgot  his  wounds,  forgot 
everything  save  that  his  country  had  at  last  vindicated 
herself.  So  it  was  a  happy,  joyous  Peter  who  quietly 
waited  until  the  surgeon  would  allow  him  to  complete 
his  journey. 

He  wrote  his  mother  a  short  note. 

"I  am  so  happy  I  can't  write,  I  can't  do  anything  but 
just  be  glad. ' ' 

161 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

To  Bertha  he  said: 

' '  I  shall  be  with  you  in  a  week.  We  will  have  a  great 
deal  to  talk  of  when  I  arrive. ' ' 

Uncle  Sam  had  sounded  his  bugle  for  volunteers. 
Among  the  first  to  enroll  was  Bates  Freeman.  He  was 
no  mean  aviator.  He  had  played  with  it  as  a  sport  for 
rich  men.  But  although  he  would  have  preferred  that 
branch  of  the  service  he  gave  himself  unreservedly  to 
his  country;  himself,  and  much  of  his  great  fortune. 
They  assigned  him  to  the  flying  squadron. 

But  first  he  insisted  upon  seeing  Bertha.  She  had  been 
really  ill  and  under  a  physician's  care  ever  since  that 
day  when  she  read  that  Peter  was  wounded.  She  had 
paid  no  attention  when  Julia  told  her  America  had  en- 
tered the  war ;  she  had  no  thought  for  anything  save  her 
own  troubles,  which  in  her  weakened  condition  loomed 
larger  than  ever. 

When  Julia  told  her  that  Bates  was  downstairs  and 
that  he  insisted  upon  seeing  her,  Bertha  at  first  refused. 
But  Julia  advised  her  to  see  him,  and  helped  her  make 
herself  presentable,  then  went  back  to  the  shop. 

"Have  they  told  you,  Bertha?"  Bates  asked  as  he  sat 
beside  her  holding  her  hand.  He  kissed  her  fondly, 
asked  about  her  illness,  and  told  how  sorry  he  was. 

' '  Told  me  what  ? ' '  she  returned  listlessly,  her  thin  fin- 
gers moving  restlessly  in  his. 

"That  the  United  States  has  declared  war  upon  Ger- 
many?" 

"Yes." 

"And  that  they  have  called  for  volunteers?" 

"No — I  guess  not." 

162 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

' '  Poor  girl,  you  have  been  too  ill  to  care.  Well,  they 
have,  and  Bertha,  darling,  it  is  your  right  to  know,  I 
have  volunteered.  I  am  to  go  over  almost  immediately 
in  the  aviation  corps.  They  can  teach  me  a  lot  about  fly- 
ing over  there,  you  know. ' ' 

"You — are — going  away?" 

"Yes.  And  Bertha,  I  don't  think  it  is  fair  to  marry 
you  and  then  leave  you.  But  I  will  do  just  as  you  say. 
What  shall  it  be,  dear?" 

Bertha  could  have  shrieked  aloud.  For  the  second 
time  a  man  had  left  it  to  her  to  decide  if  she  would  marry 
him.  She  had  decided  wrong  once.  There  was,  because 
of  that  decision,  no  equivocation  in  her  answer  now : 

"No,  Bates.  We  won't  get  married — until  you  come 
back."  Even  now  she  would  hold  him  as  long  as  she 
could,  although  her  cheeks  had  flushed,  her  eyes  bright- 
ened at  the  relief  she  felt. 

"That's  a  sensible  girl."  His  tone,  however,  showed 
his  disappointment.  "I  don't  think,  Bertha,  you  ever 
have  cared  as  much  as  I  do.  But  the  war  won't  last 
long.  I'll  soon  be  back  to  claim  you." 

When  Julia  came  in  from  work  she  was  astonished  to 
find  Bertha  up,  dressed,  ready  to  leave. 

' '  Gee !  but  you  got  well  quick  when  Bates  came, ' '  she 
said,  laughing. 

"Bates  is  going  right  away  to  war,  Julia.  He  has 
volunteered,  and  he  don't  believe  in  getting  married  and 
leaving  me.  Oh,  I  am  so  glad!" 

"But  he  might  get  killed." 

"I  can't  help  that,  Julia.  I  should  have  died  if  I 
had  had  to  keep  on  deceiving  him.  I  almost  told  him  I 

163 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

was  married;  then  I  thought  what  was  the  use?  He's 
going  away  for  a  long  time,  maybe  I'll  never  see  him 
again,  or  perhaps  Peter 

* '  Yes,  lots  of  things  might  happen.  But  I  should  have 
nailed  him  before  he  went  away. ' ' 

"I  know  you  would,  Julia,  but  I  haven't  got  your 
grit." 

"You  haven't  any!"  Julia  returned.  But  her  sar- 
casm was  entirely  lost  on  Bertha,  who  was  pinning  her 
hat  on,  hurrying  to  get  to  her  aunt 's  before  dinner  time. 
They  would  be  so  glad  to  have  her  back  again. 

The  day  that  Peter  landed  in  New  York  Bates  Free- 
man sailed  for  Prance.  Bertha  met  her  husband  and 
took  him  to  her  aunt's.  He  was  to  stay  in  New  York  a 
day  or  two,  then  go  to  Haynesville  until  he  had  entirely 
recovered. 

Bertha  was  shocked  at  the  change  in  him.  He  was 
thin  almost  to  emaciation,  and  he  still  limped.  A  large 
piece  of  shrapnel  had  hit  his  leg.  He  had  a  scar  over 
one  eye,  and  showed  plainly  that  he  had  suffered.  But 
it  was  not  the  physical  change  that  so  shocked  Bertha. 
There  was  something  about  him  she  could  not  under- 
stand nor  explain.  It  beamed  from  his  worn,  tired  face, 
and  seemed  to  enfold  him  in  a  mantle  of  strangeness. 

Aunt  Martha  and  Uncle  Nat  were  delighted  to  fuss 
over  him.  He  was  ill,  broken,  and  scarcely  realized  what 
went  on  around  him.  The  journey  had  exhausted  what 
strength  he  had.  They  talked  little,  he  and  Bertha,  yet 
more  and  more  they  knew  the  need  of  words.  They  were 
inarticulate,  and  yet  they  felt  they  had  things  they  must 
say  to  one  another. 

164 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

As  Peter  grew  stronger  the  fact  of  Bertha's  common- 
ness, her  selfishness,  the  emptiness  of  her  mind  stag- 
gered and  overwhelmed  him.  The  awfulness  of  being 
tied  for  life  to  a  girl  to  whom  he  must  forever  remain  a 
stranger ;  who  had  not  a  single  thought  or  feeling  in  com- 
mon with  him,  sickened  him.  It  was  like  a  physical 
nausea. 

There  was  only  one  thing  to  do ;  get  well  quickly  and 
go  back. 

They  were  strangely  quiet  when  together  during  his 
convalescence.  Peter  said  no  more  about  going  to 
Haynesville,  to  Bertha.  She  had  absolutely  refused  to 
spend  any  time  with  him  at  his  mother's.  So  he  had  de- 
cided to  wait  until  he  was  well  enough,  then  to  go  on 
alone. 

Peter  thought  much  in  those  long  days  of  the  last 
week  of  April  and  the  first  part  of  May.  At  first  Ber- 
tha had  been  subdued,  rather  unhappy  over  Bates  Free- 
man. But  gradually  into  their  relations  had  come  a 
subtle  change.  Bertha  became  bolder,  more  assured  when 
with  him,  left  him  oftener  to  mix  with  her  young 
friends. 

Innumerable  things  which  Bertha  could  in  no  way  un- 
derstand had  gone  into  the  making  of  Peter  the  man  he 
now  was.  The  stern  discipline,  the  life  in  the  trenches, 
the  fighting  among  the  corpses  of  No  Man's  Land,  had 
developed  him  unbelievably.  But  that  Peter  was  a  first 
lieutenant  and  that  he  spoke  French  were  almost  the  only 
facts  that  impressed  Bertha. 

Peter  agonized  over  his  problem.  He  felt  as  if  he 
were  up  against  a  stone  wall.  He  couldn't  think;  h© 

165 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

must  get  well;  get  away,  back  into  the  thick  of  things. 
Perhaps  back  there  on  the  battlefield  he  would  find  a 
solution. 

"If  you  don't  care  to  go  home  with  me,  Bertha,  I  won't 
insist, ' '  Peter  remarked  one  day  toward  the  last  of  May. 
"I  shall  only  stay  a  few  days,  anyway.  I  think  I  can 
go  back  by  that  time." 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  mentioned  that  he  intended 
to  return  immediately.  He  had  spoken  of  it  as  some- 
thing which  he  might  possibly  do  in  the  future,  but  not 
a  hint  had  he  given  that  he  would  go  at  once. 

"All  right.  You  tell  them  I  didn't  come  because  I 
had  been  once,  and  it  is  expensive  traveling. ' ' 

The  day  Peter  arrived,  Haynesville  was  flooded  with 
sunshine  and  warmth.  As  the  train  drew  into  the  sta- 
tion, and  long  before  it  stopped,  he  saw  his  father  and 
mother.  Yes,  and  there  was  Tom  Brooks,  with  his  empty 
sleeve,  and  the  minister,  even  old  Martin  Gormley.  They 
were  all  there,  and  when  he  limped  down  from  the  train 
they  all  surrounded  him,  all  anxious  to  be  the  first  to 
shake  hands  with  the  boy  who  had  seen  all  along  that 
the  United  States  must  come  in,  and  had  prepared  him- 
self to  fight  for  her. 

"Did  ever  a  prodigal  son  receive  such  a  welcome?" 
he  said  to  his  mother,  as  they  sat  apart  for  a  few  min- 
utes while  his  father  looked  after  his  luggage.  "The 
whole  town  is  here,  I  believe."  Just  then  he  caught 
sight  of  Bertha's  mother  on  the  edge  of  the  crowded  lit- 
tle platform  and  hastened  to  her.  He  kissed  her  almost 
as  tenderly  as  he  had  his  own  mother,  shocked  to  see  how 
old  and  ill  she  looked.  When  she  asked  for  Bertha,  why 

166 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

she  hadn't  come,  etc.,  he  gave  her  the  message  her  daugh- 
ter had  sent,  softening  it  as  much  as  possible. 

"She  thought  it  was  too  expensive  a  trip  for  two  to 
take  and  said  as  she  had  been  home,  it  was  my  turn," 
but  as  he  turned  away  he  sighed  heavily. 

He  walked  home,  his  mother  on  one  side,  his  father  on 
the  other  and  the  townfolk  behind  and  in  front,  pushing 
and  jostling  each  other  good-naturedly  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  town  hero,  to  hear  something  of  what  he  said. 

Of  those  days  with  his  mother,  Peter  remembered  only 
one  thing,  not  one  jarring  note,  not  one  unhappy  mo- 
ment. This  mother,  who  understood  so  well  the 
mind  and  heart  of  her  son,  had  talked  of  all  that  had 
happened  to  him.  All  he  had  endured,  all  he  had  suf- 
fered, all  that  he  had  enjoyed.  He  told  her  and  his 
father  of  the  different  phases  of  modern  warfore,  treat- 
ing the  dangers  and  the  horrors  lightly,  and  making 
much  of  the  joys  of  comradeship  and  the  little  things 
that  make  a  soldier's  life  endurable. 

But  only  to  his  mother  did  he  talk  of  Bertha.  For  the 
first  time  he  told  her  of  his  marriage.  Of  leaving  the 
decision  with  Bertha,  because  he  thought  she  was  going 
to  grieve  for  him,  although  he  hadn't  meant  to  make  love 
to  her,  he  confessed  naively.  He  told  of  their  failure  to 
understand  each  other;  for  to  be  truthful  Bertha  was 
almost  as  much  an  enigma  to  Peter  as  Peter  was  to  Ber- 
tha. He  told  of  how  he  had  agonized  over  it  all  and  that 
he  was  going  to  work  it  out  when  he  got  back. 

" There's  something  about  fighting  that  makes  you 
think  clearly;  I  mean,  afterward,"  he  told  his  mother, 
still  hesitant  when  he  tried  to  express  his  thoughts. 

167 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"There  must  be  something  I  must  do,  the  right  thing,  I 
mean." 

"You  will  do  what  is  right,  my  son,  I  have  no  fear." 

"I  want  to,  mother.  You  see  Bertha  is  just  a  girl," 
the  old  excuse  rose  unconsciously  to  his  lips,  ' '  and  I  am 
afraid  she  never  will  be — different — like  you  and  ..." 

''And  who?"  his  mother  asked  gently. 

"Like  Madeline." 

"And  who  is  Madeline?" 

"The  girl  who  nursed  me  and  the  other  wounded 
men.  I  only  knew  her  three  or  four  days,  but  she  was 
an  angel." 

"You  mustn't  think  of  her,  dear,"  his  mother  said, 
quickly  sensing  the  feeling  behind  his  words. 

"I  can't  help  thinking  of  her,  mother.  I  love  her," 
Peter  returned  as  simply  as  if  he  were  a  child,  instead 
of  a  first  lieutenant  and  a  fighting  man. 

"Have  you  told  her?"  the  mother  asked,  her  heart 
aching  for  her  boy,  yet  her  love  making  her  afraid. 

' '  No.    I  never  shall.    There 's  Bertha,  you  know. ' ' 

"Yes,  there's  Bertha,"  and  she  whispered  to  herself 
as  she  so  often  had  done  when  thinking  of  Bertha :  "Poor 
Peter." 

"We  won't  talk  of  it  again,  mother,  but  I  wanted  you 
to  know.  Madeline  is  like  you.  She  understands. "  To 
Peter  that  meant  much,  to  be  understood. 

"Tell  me  what  she  looks  like?" 

Madeline  Dawson  would  have  smiled  could  she  have 
heard  the  description  Peter  gave  his  mother.  He  closed 
his  eyes  and  conjured  up  the  sweet  face  and  sad  eyes 
of  the  nurse  who  had  bent  so  tenderly  over  him.  And  he 

168 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

endowed  her  with  a  beauty  almost  ethereal.  A  smile  stole 
over  his  mother's  face,  just  touched  her  lips  and  was 
gone. 

' '  She  must  be  lovely.  But  what  color  are  her  eyes — 
and  her  hair?" 

"Her  eyes — why,  I  don't  know!  I  guess  they  are — 
brown,  but  they  are  big  and  sad  and  sympathetic.  And 
her  hair — I  think  that  must  be  brown,  too — yes,  I  am 
sure  it  must  be.  And  she  has  the  softest  hands,  just 
to  have  her  touch  one  stops  the  pain.  The  pain  in  your 
heart  as  well  as  that  of  your  body." 

After  this  confession  they  sat  in  silence.  When  his 
father  came  in  they  were  chatting  happily  with  old 
Thomas  Brooks  who  made  every  excuse  he  possibly  could 
to  drop  in  and  see  "the  lef tenant. "  To  him  Peter  re- 
counted each  battle  in  which  he  had  taken  part.  He  told 
of  the  infantry  when  they  jumped  out  of  their  trenches 
and  went  across.  He  told  of  the  air  raids,  of  the  ex- 
ploding shells,  of  the  poison  gas,  and  all  the  new  in- 
ventions for  killing,  until  the  old  man  gasped  with  de- 
lighted horror. 

"They  never  fit  like  that  in  the  Civil  War !  They  just 
fit  with  guns  and  bayonets.  And  do  you  know,  lef  tenant, 
it  seems  to  me  the  decenter  way. ' ' 

"Yes,  Thomas,  I  think  so,  too,  but  it  wouldn't  accom- 
plish much  against  those  damned  Huns.  You  have  to 
meet  cruelty  with  cruelty,  they  don't  understand  any- 
thing else.  Reprisal  is  the  only  thing  that  keeps  their 
frightfulness  from  becoming  more  frightful.  That  is 
one  thing  that  is  going  to  be  hard  to  make  Americans 
understand  even  now  they  are  in  it.  America  is  a 

169 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

clean,  God-fearing  nation  of  gentlemen.  Germany  is 
a  godless  nation  of  beasts.  They  will  have  to  get  that 
firmly  fixed  into  their  minds  if  they  intend  to  lick  them. 
And  licked  they  have  got  to  be  to  make  this  world  a  fit 
place  for  a  decent  man  or  woman  to  live  in.  You  at 
home  have  got  to  learn  it,  too.  Don't  forget  that!" 

Peter  went  every  day  to  sit  a  while  with  Bertha's 
mother,  and  on  his  way  home  invariably  dropped  into 
the  grocery  store  to  get  the  mail  and  chat  with  Bertha 's 
father  and  the  rest  of  the  townf oiks  who  made  that  their 
gathering  place.  Now  that  "the  States  had  gone  in," 
as  Thomas  Brooks  expressed  it,  the  store  was  more  popu- 
lar than  ever.  The  discussions  often  waxed  loud  and 
heated,  but  in  that  midwestern  town,  so  far  from  the 
center  of  activities,  there  was  no  conception  of  what 
the  war  might  mean  to  them,  no  idea  that  it  could  last 
for  any  length  of  time — until  Peter  talked  to  them. 

Here  at  home  with  these  people  he  always  had  known, 
many  of  whom  had  dangled  him  on  their  knees,  or  who 
had  played  horse  with  Peter  a-straddle  of  one  foot,  he 
talked  freely.  The  minister  and  Thomas  Brooks,  after 
listening  to  him,  called  a  meeting  of  the  citizens  and 
formed  a  Home  Defense  Society.  The  women  of  the 
church  had  already  formed  a  Red  Cross  chapter  and 
were  never  seen  without  their  knitting. 

Two  or  three  of  the  young  men  were  getting  ready,  so 
if  they  were  drafted  their  affairs  would  be  in  shape. 
In  fact,  the  quiet  town  had,  since  Peter's  return,  been 
metamorphosed  into  a  perfect  riot  of  activity,  his  mother 
and  father  the  leading  spirits. 

Even  the  boys  and  girls  in  the  factory  had  been  or- 

170 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

ganized  under  Peter's  direction  and  held  nightly  drills, 
Thomas  Brooks  having  them  in  charge. 

"It  beats  the  Dutch  what  a  change  has  been  made  in 
this  town  since  Lieutenant  Moore  came  home,"  Martin 
Gormley  declared.  "He  has  turned  it  upside  down  all 
right.  My  old  woman  can't  hardly  stop  that  knittin' 
long  enough  to  get  the  victuals  ready  to  eat  ever  since 
Peter  told  her  how  some  of  them  soldiers  suffered  with 
the  cold.  If  she  starves  me  to  death  it  will  be  his  fault. ' ' 

"No  danger  of  that,  Martin,"  Peter  returned.  "I 
know  something  about  Mrs.  Gormley 's  cooking." 

Bertha 's  father  took  little  part  in  the  discussions.  He 
was  worried  about  his  wife;  he  wanted  Bertha  to  come 
home,  and  had  said  so  to  Peter.  It  wasn't  Henry 
Hunter's  way  to  beat  about  the  bush,  and  he  had  told 
Peter  very  plainly  that  he  thought  it  his,  Peter's,  duty 
to  send  Bertha  back  to  Haynesville  to  live,  instead  of 
letting  her  stay  in  New  York. 

"Her  mother  needs  her,"  Mr.  Hunter  said,  "and, 
Peter,  New  York  ain't  no  place  for  a  young  girl  to  be 
all  alone.  She 's  your  wife  now  and  must  do  as  you  say, 
not  as  I  want  her  to ;  but  so  long  as  you  are  going  back 
to  France  to  fight  you  ought  to  send  her  back  to  Haynes- 
ville." 

"I  would  like  to  have  her  here  with  you,"  Peter  re- 
plied, "but  she  must  do  as  she  likes.  I  can't  be  with 
her ;  I  never  have  been  with  her  but  just  those  two  weeks 
on  my  way  out  here  to  get  well,  and  I  don't  feel  I  have 
a  right  to  tell  her  what  she  must  do."  He  did  not  say 
that  it  would  do  no  good,  that  he  had  exhausted  every 
argument  he  knew  to  get  her  to  return  to  Haynesville, 

171 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"It  ain't  good  for  her,"  Bertha's  father  repeated. 
"She's  too  young,  and  she  ain't  been  used  to  city  ways. 
She's  just  a  country  girl,  Peter,  if  she  does  wear  stylish 
clothes." 

Peter  made  no  reply.  That  Bertha  had  slipped  off 
her  country  ideas  as  she  would  a  coat  he  knew.  She 
was  as  much  a  New  Yorker  as  if  she  had  been  born  there. 
Her  ideas,  her  tastes,  her  desires  and  her  habits  were 
those  of  a  city  girl.  Her  husband  had  sensed  that  while 
he  lay  ill  at  Aunt  Martha's.  Her  companions,  too,  were 
gay  girls,  like  Julia  Lawrence.  Peter  had  met  Julia  one 
day  when  she,  impelled  to  see  what  kind  of  a  man  Bertha 
had  married,  called  at  Aunt  Martha's. 

"He's  handsome,  Bertha!  Much  better  looking  than 
Bates.  But  he's  so  solemn.  Don't  he  ever  cut  up  and 
have  a  good  time?" 

"No — I  guess  not — he's  always  quiet,"  Bertha  had 
answered,  a  little  stab  of  memory  making  her  flush.  He 
had  been  good  company  when  she  knew  nothing  of  the 
other  kind;  Bates'  kind.  Now  she,  too,  thought  him 
solemn.  Not  only  that,  but  he  bored  her.  She  wasn't 
used  to  sitting  for  any  length  of  time  without  being 
talked  to  by  any  one  she  happened  to  be  with,  and  in 
those  days  of  convalescence  Peter  often  forgot  to  speak 
for  an  hour  at  a  time. 

Peter  did  not  mean  to  be  unsociable.  But  Bertha 
never  seemed  to  grasp  what  he  tried  to  convey.  When 
he  talked  of  his  life  over  there  it  was  only  the  social  side 
of  it  that  interested  her.  The  looks  of  the  young  offi- 
cers and  the  amusements  provided  for  the  men  when  off 
duty.  Of  his  life  in  the  trenches,  his  endeavors  to  ad- 

172 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

vance  himself,  his  persistent  study  she  cared  nothing. 
Even  when  recounting  some  stirring  tale  of  the  heroism 
of  his  men  to  Uncle  Nat  when  he  returned  from  his 
work,  Bertha  would  yawn  or  possibly  make  an  excuse 
to  leave  the  room.  Peter  soon  observed  this,  and  so  he 
would  not  talk  before  her  of  the  things  in  which  she  had 
no  interest. 


173 


CHAPTER  XVI 

PETER  had  entirely  recovered.  He  was  "going  back" 
and  could  scarcely  wait  to  join  his  men  in  their  desper- 
ate fight  against  the  Huns.  The  night  before  he  left 
Haynesville  the  town  insisted  upon  giving  him  a  farewell 
reception  at  the  church.  Peter  had  begged  them  not  to, 
to  let  him  go  quietly.  But  he  was  the  town  hero.  He 
had  gone  overseas  long  before  there  was,  seemingly,  any 
necessity.  His  constant  declaration  that  "America 
would  have  to  come  in"  had  been  verified.  Then,  too, 
he  was  now  a  commissioned  officer.  If  his  own  town 
didn't  honor  him  it  would  be  a  disgrace  to  the  entire 
community. 

So  Peter  submitted.  For  two  torturing  hours  he 
was  the  guest  of  honor  of  his  townspeople.  When  he 
finally  escaped  he  said  to  his  mother: 

"Talk  about  the  trenches  or  facing  the  German  guns, 
it  is  nothing  to  being  made  a  hero  of  by  people. ' ' 

His  mother  laughed,  realizing  his  feelings,  yet  a  bit 
proud  that  it  was  her  boy  they  had  so  delighted  to 
honor. 

The  next  morning  Peter  left  Haynesville  for  New 
York.  He  would  remain  with  Bertha  until  his  ship 
sailed.  The  entire  population  was  at  the  station  to  bid 
him  farewell.  A  banner  had  been  made  which  the  boys 

174 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

from  his  father's  factory  carried  and  which  they  had 
designed.  When  Peter  saw  it  he  flushed  crimson,  and 
was  so  embarrassed  he  could  scarcely  reply  to  a  ques- 
tion Thomas  Brooks  had  asked  him. 

''The  Hero  of  Haynesville"  was  inscribed  upon  the 
white  surface  in  glaring  red  letters.  When  the  boys 
arrived  at  Peter's  home  to  escort  him  to  the  station,  he 
at  first  refused  to  go  with  them,  but  his  mother  told  him 
how  badly  they  would  feel,  how  they  had  asked  for  a 
half-holiday  without  pay  to  escort  him.  So  finally  he* 
consented.  But  as  he  had  said  of  the  party  the  night 
before,  it  was  harder  than  facing  German  guns  to  do  it. 

Peter  had  promised  Mrs.  Hunter  that  he  would  once 
more  urge  Bertha  to  return  to  her  while  he  was  at  the 
front.  He  had  no  faith  he  would  be  successful,  but  Mrs. 
Hunter  took  hope  that  Bertha  would  listen  to  him  and 
come  back  to  them. 

Peter  and  his  mother  had  said  good-bye  the  night  be- 
fore, their  real  good-bye.  They  had  sat  up  until  the 
gray  dawn  crept  in  the  windows,  talking  of  things  which 
were  so  vitally  a  part  of  them  both.  His  father  had 
gone  to  bed  about  midnight,  leaving  them  alone.  So 
the  next  day  when  he  bade  them  farewell  at  the  station 
it  was  the  sort  of  a  good-bye  for  all  to  see,  a  cheery, 
laughing  kiss  and  shake  of  the  hand  before  he  jumped 
aboard  the  moving  train. 

The  county  newspaper  that  week  contained  a  glow- 
ing account  of  the  reception  and  the  wonderful  send-off 
the  citizens  of  Haynesville  gave  "  First  Lieutenant 
Moore,  our  distinguished  townsman."  Mrs.  Moore 

175 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

bought  several  copies.  One  she  sent  to  Peter,  one  to 
Bertha.  Peter  might  like  to  keep  his  copy,  and  Bertha 
surely  would  be  interested  in  reading  of  Peter's  popu- 
larity. 

Bertha  knew  when  Peter  was  coming,  he  had  wired 
her.  Perhaps  some  idea  that  she  might  be  at  the  station 
to  meet  him  was  in  his  mind  as  he  alighted  from  the 
train  at  the  end  of  his  journey ;  for  he  looked  quickly  but 
carefully  around  as  he  walked  briskly  along,  refusing  the 
aid  of  the  porters  with  his  luggage.  He  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent Peter  from  the  one  who  had  walked  so  slowly 
through  the  same  station  a  few  weeks  before.  Then  he 
was  pale,  ill,  a  battle-scarred  veteran  of  the  war.  Now 
his  eyes  were  bright,  he  walked  quickly,  his  every  move- 
ment bespeaking  health  and  vitality. 

He  went  immediately  up  to  Aunt  Martha's.  Bertha 
had  been  but  an  infrequent  correspondent  even  now  that 
he  was  in  the  country.  He  knew  no  more  of  her  habits, 
her  whereabouts  than  he  did  when  he  was  in  France,  save 
only  that  she  had  told  him  she  would  keep  her  position. 
He  would  have  gone  to  the  shop,  but  he  recalled  that  she 
never  had  mentioned  the  name  of  the  place.  She  sold 
hats  to  wealthy  people.  That  was  all  he  knew. 

Aunt  Martha  was  delighted  to  see  him,  and  made  a 
great  fuss  over  him.  She  told  him  the  telephone  num- 
ber of  the  shop,  and  Peter  called  Bertha  up.  She  re- 
plied without  enthusiasm  that  she  would  be  home  for 
dinner,  said  good-bye  and  hung  up. 

He  had  only  one  day  to  remain  in  New  York.  So  in 
response  to  his  appeal,  almost  his  command,  Bertha  did 
not  go  to  the  shop  the  following  morning. 

176 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  he  had  told  her.  "I  am 
afraid  your  mother  won't  live  long." 

He  told  of  her  mother's  illness  having  left  her  very 
weak,  of  her  desire  that  Bertha  come  home  and  stay 
with  her,  of  their  real  need  of  a  daughter's  care.  Thia 
time  he  said  nothing  of  his  own  mother.  Someway  he 
knew  she  and  Bertha  never  would  be  happy  together. 
When  Bertha  refused  to  listen  to  him  he  told  her  of  his 
provision  for  her  support  if  anything  should  happen  to 
him,  of  the  insurance,  etc.  To  this  Bertha  listened  care- 
fully, making  a  list  of  certain  things  as  he  suggested. 

Once  more  Peter  was  in  France.  Once  more  he  was 
on  the  fighting  line.  America  had  at  last  come  in,  and 
with  the  first  chance  Peter  was  transferred,  so  that  he 
might  fight  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

His  dreams  had  not  changed.  They  were  still  all 
of  accomplishment — America's  accomplishment.  And 
neither  had  he  changed.  He  went  on  studying,  broad- 
ening himself  from  every  possible  angle. 

Now  as  first  lieutenant  his  duties  were  increased,  his 
responsibilities  had  grown  greater.  He  must  set  an  ex- 
ample to  his  men.  For  one  of  his  theories  was  that  the 
morals  of  its  officers  were  the  morals  of  the  army.  If  ho 
wanted  those  under  him  to  be  clean  he  must  also  be 
clean. 

Peter  took  himself  to  task  for  his  occasional  lapses 
into  aloofness.  His  mother  had  in  that  last  heart-to- 
heart  talk  told  him  that  if  he  had  a  serious  fault  that  was 
it.  His  quiet,  aloof  manner  would  be  apt  to  hold  people 
away  from  him ;  to  make  them  withhold  their  confidence. 

177 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

So  he  struggled  against  it ;  he  compelled  himself  to  be  a 
comrade  and  a  companion  as  well  as  an  officer.  He 
learned  to  talk  and  tell  stories  on  occasion  and  discov- 
ered that  he  could  sing.  The  effect  all  this  had  on  Peter 
was  remarkable.  While  not  in  any  way  eliminating  any 
of  his  lovable  qualities  or  his  ambitions,  it  added 
immensely  to  his  popularity.  Now,  instead  of  sitting 
quietly  by,  he  joined  in  whatever  was  going  on ;  joined 
in  a  dignified  manner,  of  course,  as  was  natural  and  be- 
fitting in  an  officer. 

Back  in  France  Peter  at  times  almost  forgot  the  bit- 
terness which  had  filled  his  heart  and  mind  when  with 
Bertha.  Sometimes  for  days  together  he  would  not  think 
of  her  at  all.  Then  one  of  her  uninteresting,  innocuous 
letters  would  come  and  jerk  him  back  to  a  realization  of 
the  fetters  which  bound  him — the  awfulness  of  it  all.  He 
knew  that  to  Bertha  he  must  ever  remain  a  stranger; 
that  never  would  she  understand  or  see  things  as  he  saw 
them.  It  was  at  such  times  that  Peter  needed  all  his 
strength,  all  his  religion  to  keep  going. 

Often  at  night,  when  the  rain  fell  on  the  dead  faces 
once  buried  in  No  Man 's  Land  and  then  washed  up  again 
by  the  rains,  or  torn  from  their  shallow  graves  by  the 
shells  of  the  enemy,  Peter  would  think  of  himself  as  one 
of  them  and  wonder  if,  after  all,  it  wasn't  the  better 
way — to  die  in  battle,  give  your  life  for  your  country, 
rather  than  to  live  on  and  on  with  such  a  hopeless  future 
as  stared  him  in  the  face.  In  this  mood  all  the  resilience 
of  his  soul  seemed  to  vanish.  He  felt  crushed,  miserably 
unhappy  and  alone. 

But  fortunately  for  Peter,  he  was  too  busy  to  have 

178 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

much  time  for  such,  thinking.  His  pain  never  kept  him 
from  being  quite  honest  with  himself ;  never  caused  him 
to  neglect  his  duty. 

Peter  had  seen  Madeline  Dawson  several  times,  but 
he  had  not  met  her  under  conditions  where  it  was  neces- 
sary to  say  more  than  the  conventional  words  of  greet- 
ing. His  eyes  had  lighted  in  a  way  that  thrilled  her 
with  gladness,  and  if  she  wondered  that  he  made  no 
effort  to  be  with  her,  if  she  felt  chagrined  or  disap- 
pointed, she  gave  no  sign.  She  smiled  cheerily  at  him 
when  they  met,  and  if  the  smile  she  gave  him  at  parting 
was  a  little  sad  he  thought  it  very  sweet  and  carried  the 
memory  of  it  in  his  heart  for  days. 

When  Peter's  mother  read  his  long,  intimate  letters, 
all  athrill  with  his  experiences,  glowing  with  all  the 
young  soldier's  ardor  and  pride,  there  was  one  thing 
of  which  he  never  spoke,  one  person  he  never  men- 
tioned, and  her  mother  heart  ached  to  know.  He  never 
had  written  of  Madeline  Dawson,  the  young  nurse  he 
had  confessed  he  loved.  But  Mrs.  Moore  waited  with 
perfect  trust,  sure  that  Peter  would  do  the  right  thing, 
the  thing  he  "must"  do,  as  he  would  say. 

But  if  Peter  didn't  talk  of  Madeline  to  his  mother 
he  never  forgot  to  speak  of  the  joy  he  had  in  that  his 
country,  America,  had  at  last  "come  into  the  game." 

' '  It  has  redeemed  us,  mother, ' '  he  wrote  in  one  letter. 
"The  world  can  no  longer  point  to  us  as  laggards.  We 
need  no  longer  be  ashamed.  If  you  could  see  and  know 
the  joy,  the  hope,  the  new-born  life  it  has  given  the 
French  and  the  British.  These  wonderful  men  who  have 
been  fighting  for  three  years  and  who  will  keep  on  fight- 

179 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

ing  so  long  -as  they  have  a  man  to  bar  the  way.  '  The 
Hun  shall  not  pass'  is  no  idle  phrase.  'They  sliall  not 
pass!'  and  America  now  will  do  her  share  to  prevent. 
America,  with  her  hundred  million  people,  that  are  now, 
at  the  eleventh  hour,  atoning;  that  have  wakened  to 
the  fact  that  it  is  their  war,  their  sacrifice,  their  Calvary, 
as  it  will  be  their  glory.  For  greater  love  hath  no  man 
than  this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for  another.  And 
that's  what  America  is  now  doing,  along  with  the  French 
and  the  British.  I'm  so  proud  of  her  now." 

After  Peter  left,  Bertha  took  up  her  old,  careless 
life  as  far  as  she  could  without  Bates  Freeman.  He 
had  made  her  promise  to  write  him  regularly,  and  she 
kept  her  promise.  Long,  chatty  letters  filled  with  gos- 
sip of  the  people  they  both  knew,  of  what  she  did  and 
where  she  went.  If  she  ever  compared  them  to  the 
short,  uninteresting  notes  she  sent  Peter  it  was  only  to 
shrug  her  shoulders  and  say : 

"He  don't  know  anybody  I  know!  There  isn't  any- 
thing to  write  about." 

Bates  Freeman  for  some  time  before  he  left  had  exer- 
cised a  sort  of  restraining  influence  on  Bertha  in  many 
ways,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  called  a  "sport." 
After  he  had  decided  that  he  wanted  to  marry  her  he 
had  changed  in  many  ways  for  the  better.  He  had  de- 
voted himself  entirely  to  Bertha,  dropping  many  of  his 
old  crowd.  He  did  this  for  two  reasons.  One  that  he 
did  not  care  to  have  Bertha  become  intimate  with  them, 
the  other  he  had  no  time. 

Julia  Lawrence,  however,  urged  Bertha  to  join  many 
gay  groups,  so  that  now  Bates  was  away  she  became  more 

180 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

frivolous  than  ever.  Her  pay  at  the  shop  had  been  in- 
creased, and  with  what  Peter  sent  her  she  was  really 
able  to  do  as  she  pleased. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robinson,  Bertha's  aunt  and  uncle,  dis- 
approved of  many  things  she  now  did.  She  had  grown 
careless,  and,  they  knew  more  of  where  she  went,  and 
what  she  did  than  before.  Then,  too,  in  the  time  Peter 
had  been  with  them  they  had  come  to  like  this  young 
soldier  Bertha  had  married.  They  didn't  think  she  was 
doing  right  to  run  around  with  such  gay  people,  espe- 
cially with  young  men,  so  they  often  criticized  and  re- 
monstrated with  her.  Bertha  resented  this,  and  took 
no  pains  to  hide  her  feelings. 

"I  pay  my  board;  they  haven't  any  right  to  say  any- 
thing," she  grumbled  to  Julia  after  a  particularly  dis- 
tressing scene  in  which  even  her  uncle  had  upbraided 
her,  and  told  her  she  wasn't  treating  Peter  right. 

"Why  don't  you  get  out?  If  I  were  you  I  wouldn't 
stay  a  day  where  I  couldn't  do  as  I  pleased.  Get  a  room 
somewhere  and  take  your  meals  out,  like  I  do.  No  one 
meddles  with  me." 

"But  Julia,  I  have  always  been  used  to  regular  meals. 
Aunt  Martha  is  an  awful  good  cook  and  fixes  lots  of 
things  just  because  I  like  them.  I  am  afraid  I'd  get' 
sick  if  I  lived  like  you  do.  You're  used  to  it,  you  know, 
and  I  ain't.  I  have  always  had  my  meals  at  home,  you 
know,  except  when  I  went  out  to  dinner  with  Bates  or 
the  crowd.  But  I'd  almost  rather  be  sick  than  to  hear 
them  telling  me  what  I  must  do  and  what  I  mustn't  do 
— because  of  Peter." 

A  short  time  after  this  conversation  Bertha  came  in 

181 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

one  morning  at  two  o'clock.    Her  uncle  was  sitting  up 
waiting  for  her. 

"This  has  got  to  stop,"  he  said,  not  unkindly,  though 
his  tone  was  firm.  "You  are  a  married  woman,  Ber- 
tha. People  will  begin  to  talk  about  you — if  they  haven 't 
already.  Your  husband,  a  first  lieutenant  off  fighting 
for  his  country,  and  you  running  around  with  a  lot  of 
whippersnappers  who  ain't  fit  to  clean  his  boots.  Men 
with  no  sense,  and  only  money  to  recommend  them. 
Don't  you  know  that  kind  ain't  no  use  for  shop  girls — 
only  to  ruin  them?" 

"That's  all  you  know  about  it,  Uncle  Nat,"  Bertha 
grumbled,  her  thoughts  on  Bates  Freeman  and  his 
anxiety  to  marry  her.  "They  ain't  that  kind  at  all; 
not  the  ones  I  go  with.  And  if  you  think  a  girl  can  go 
through  life  doing  nothing  but  work  just  because  she's 
got  a  husband  who  'd  rather  fight  than  be  with  her,  you  've 
got  another  think  coming — Peter  is  a  stick,  anyway," 
she  added,  goaded  to  say  it  by  the  thought  that  had  it 
not  been  for  Peter  they  would  not  have  found  fault 
with  her.  They  didn't  until  they  got  better  acquainted 
with  him  and  listened  to  his  stupid  war  stories. 

"Peter  is  a  fellow  any  girl  would  be  proud  of — that 
is,  any  girl  who  wasn't  a  silly  sort  who  had  lost  her  head 
because  she  got  in  with  a  fast  crowd.  I  know  there  ain  't 
nothing  sporty  about  Peter.  But  he's  good  and  sub- 
stantial. And  he  is  good-looking,  too,  big  and  strong. 
Them  weazened-up  fellows  I  see  you  with  lately  make 
me  sick.  I  don't  see  how  you  stand  being  with  them, 
even  if  they  do  spend  their  money  on  you." 

"That's  all  you  know  about  it!"  Bertha  repeated  im- 

182 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

patiently.  She  did  not  really  want  to  quarrel  with  her 
uncle,  neither  was  she  anxious  to  leave  them.  But  she 
hadn't  been  very  well  lately,  she  was  tired  and  cross, 
so  did  not  choose  her  words. 

"Your  aunt  frets  herself  most  sick  over  you." 
"I'll  get  out;  then  she  won't  have  to  fret." 
"Don't  be  silly,  Bertha.    New  York  is  no  place  for  a 
young  woman  without  a  home.    Especially  a  young  mar- 
ried woman  whose  husband  is  away.    If  you  don't  want 
to  do  right  here,  you  better  go  home  with  your  mother. 
Poor  thing,  she  needs  you  bad  enough." 

"I'll  not  stay  here  nor  go  home,  either!"  Bertha  an- 
grily replied.  "I'll  leave  to-morrow.  I've  been  in- 
tending to  go  anyway.  If  you  think  I'll  stand  for 
being  found  fault  with  you're  mistaken!" 


183 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AT  breakfast  next  morning  Bertha  was  very  quiet. 
She  scarcely  answered  her  uncle's  cheery  "good  morn- 
ing," and  ate  no  breakfast  at  all.  She  looked  very  white 
and  had  great  dark  circles  under  her  eyes.  She  had 
been  burning  the  candle  at  both  ends,  as  her  aunt  ex- 
pressed it,  for  some  time.  She  necessarily  had  to  rise 
early  in  the  morning,  and  even  though  her  work  was 
light,  it  was  confining.  For  several  weeks  she  had 
scarcely  spent  an  evening  at  home.  Her  Sundays  were 
her  busiest  days.  She  usually  mended  her  clothes,  wrote 
her  letters  in  the  morning,  then  spent  the  rest  of  the 
day  with  the  gay  crowd  of  which  Julia  was  the  leading 
spirit. 

"Come  home  as  soon  as  you  can,  dearie,"  her  aunt 
said,  "I'll  have  dinner  early,  and  you  can  go  right  to 
bed.  You  look  all  tired  out." 

"I  have  an  engagement  tonight."  Bertha  looked 
straight  at  her  uncle  as  she  said  it.  "I  shall  not  come 
home  to  dinner,  and  probably  not  until  late." 

Uncle  Nat  started  to  speak,  but  at  a  glance  from  his 
wife  restrained  himself. 

"Get  in  as  early  as  possible,"  Mrs.  Robinson  added  as 
Bertha  rose  wearily  from  the  table.  "You  look  all  tuck- 
ered out." 

184 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Bertha  was  "tuckered  out,"  her  limbs  dragged  heav- 
ily as  she  went  upstairs  for  her  hat  and  coat.  She  was 
short  of  breath  and  sank  down  on  the  edge  of  the  bed 
for  a  moment. 

Her  disdain  of  her  uncle's  advice,  her  discontent 
showed  itself  in  lines  about  the  pretty  mouth  and  weak 
chin.  Now  she  was  dissatisfied  with  her  surroundings, 
with  the  condition  which  confronted  her.  Since  she  had 
left  Haynesville  she  had  been  accustomed  to  mold  life 
to  her  desire.  She  was  sunk  in  the  depths  of  indeter- 
mination.  She  wanted  to  go,  to  be  entirely  free  of  re- 
straint ;  yet  something  in  her  urged  her  to  stay,  to  cling 
to  this  one  thing  that  kept  her  in  a  way  wholesome  and 
— different  from  some  of  the  girls. 

Finally  she  went  slowly  downstairs. 

' '  Uncle  wants  me  to  go, ' '  she  said  to  her  aunt  who  was 
clearing  away  the  breakfast. 

"No,  Bertha,  he  doesn't  want  you  to  go.  But  he  feels 
that  you  will  get  yourself  talked  about  if  you  stay  out 
so  late  with  young  men,  fast  fellows,  too.  You  see,  being 
married  makes  a  difference,  Bertha." 

"Just  as  if  I  didn't  know  being  married  made  a  dif- 
ference!" Bertha  again  thought  of  Bates  Freeman. 
' '  You  don 't  have  to  keep  rubbing  that  in.  Just  because  a 
person's  been  a  fool  they  don't  like  to  be  told  of  it  all 
the  time. ' ' 

Mrs.  Eobinson  paid  no  attention  to  Bertha's  impa- 
tience, but  poured  her  a  cup  of  coffee. 

"It  won't  hurt  you  to  have  another  cup.  You  didn't 
eat  any  breakfast.  I  am  afraid  you're  going  to  be  sick. 
You  look  dreadfully  white." 

185 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"It's  the  stairs.  I  seem  to  be  short  of  breath 
lately." 

Bertha  drank  the  coffee,  then  went  immediately  out 
saying  that  she  would  be  late.  Her  aunt  gazed  anxiously 
after  her. 

"She  looks  sick.  I  hope "  she  stopped  in  her  so- 
liloquy, but  often  during  the  day  she  muttered  to  her- 
self as  she  went  about  her  work,  and  wondered  if 
she  should  write  Bertha's  mother;  if  it  were  her 
duty. 

Bertha  was  unhappy.  Desperately  unhappy.  Her 
thoughts  constantly  veered  to  Bates  Freeman.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  her  foolishness  in  wanting  to  stay  in 
New  York  she  would  have  been  his  wife,  and  he  wouldn't 
have  volunteered — so  she  thought,  showing  how  little  she 
knew  of  Bates.  She  could  have  stayed  in  New  York 
without  marrying  Peter.  She  was  a  silly  little  fool.  No 
one  could  have  made  her  go  back  to  Haynesville.  And 
her  aunt  and  uncle  thought  she  ought  to  sit  at  home 
nights  and  think  and  fret  over  what  was  going  to  hap- 
pen. Well,  she  wouldn't!  She  would  go  out  and  have 
a  good  time  just  as  long  as  she  could — here  she  broke 
off  in  her  thoughts,  her  face  grew  somber,  the  indeter- 
minate chin  took  on  an  extra  weakness,  but  her  eyes 
smoldered  with  an  angry  fire. 

Julia  met  her  with  a  plan  for  the  evening.  Then 
stopped  as  she  noted  the  absolute  lack  of  interest,  even 
attention  in  Bertha's  attitude.  She  was  still  brooding 
over  her  affairs.  Still  thinking  there  had  been  no  exact 
reason  why  she  should  have  married  Peter  Moore,  and 
so  lost  Bates  Freeman.  For  that  she  had  lost  him  she 

186 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

knew  deep  down  in  her  heart,  although  Julia  tried  to 
convince  her  that  when  the  war  was  over  she  and  Bates 
would  find  some  way  to  marry. 

For  the  first  time  in  weeks  Bertha  refused  to  go  with 
the  crowd  to  a  gay  dinner  place  a  short  distance  out. 
But  fearing  her  uncle  would  think  it  because  of  what 
he  had  said  to  her  she  took  her  dinner  at  a  cheap  little 
restaurant  not  far  from  where  she  lived. 

She  couldn't  eat,  but  played  with  the  food  for  an 
hour.  Then  walked  slowly  home.  Her  aunt  saw  her 
coming  and  opened  the  door  just  as  Bertha  fell  heavily. 
She  rushed  out,  and  lifting  her  saw  that  she  had 
fainted. 

' '  Poor  child ! ' '  she  murmured,  as  she  half  carried,  half 
dragged  her  into  the  house. 

Under  her  aunt's  ministration  Bertha  soon  recovered. 
She  went  directly  to  bed,  making  no  objection  when  her 
aunt  declared  that  she  wasn't  fit  to  go  to  work  the  next 
day  and  that  she  would  send  a  note  to  the  shop  saying 
so. 

"Oh,  how  good  this  feels!"  Bertha  said  to  herself  as 
her  aunt  turned  out  the  light  and  left  her  alone.  "I 
must  cut  out  staying  out  nights  for  a  while.  I'm  so 
tired."  Then  she  drifted  quietly  off  to  sleep  and  did 
not  waken  until  her  aunt  came  in  about  ten  o'clock  the 
next  morning  with  her  breakfast. 

"I'm  so  hungry!"  she  said,  as  she  sat  up  and  blinked 
when  her  aunt  raised  the  blinds. 

"Of  course  you  are!  Now  eat  every  bite,  then  you 
can  go  to  sleep  again  if  you  want  to. ' ' 

The  steaming  coffee,  the  delicate  toast,  the  poached 

187 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

eggs,  all  looked  apd  tasted  so  good  that  Bertha  thought 
with  disgust  of  eating  her  meals  as  did  Julia  in  one 
restaurant  after  another;  necessarily  rather  cheap  ones 
if  she  were  to  patronize  them  all  the  time.  She  would 
be  real  nice  to  uncle  Nat.  Perhaps  he  would  forget  she 
had  been  rather  impudent  to  him.  To  ask  his  pardon 
never  entered  her  head. 

After  she  finished  her  breakfast,  Bertha  dropped  back 
again  on  to  the  pillows,  breathing  a  sigh  of  content. 
It  was  nice  to  stay  at  home  one  day. 

About  noon  she  arose,  dressed,  then  fussed  about  the 
room  for  a  while.  Her  aunt  called  and  she  went 
down  and  ate  a  bit  of  broiled  chicken  and  a  cup  of 
tea. 

"You'll  spoil  me,  Aunt  Martha,"  she  said  when  she 
had  finished  and  her  offer  of  help  had  been  refused. 

"I  want  you  to  feel  happy  here,  Bertha.  Until  you 
have  a  home  of  your  own  I  want  you  to  stay  here  with 
me — unless  you  decide  to  go  back  to  Haynesville. " 

' '  1 11  never  do  that !  Never !  I  couldn  't  stand  it,  Aunt 
Martha.  You  don't  know  how  dead  it  is  after  New 
York." 

"All  right,"  her  aunt  replied  in  a  soothing  voice, 
"then  you  must  stay  with  us.  If  your  uncle  gets  ner- 
vous once  in  a  while  you  must  remember  that  we  never 
had  any  children,  and  that  when  he  was  young,  folks 
didn't  stay  out  late.  We're  old-fashioned  you  know, 
Bertha." 

"You've  lived  in  New  York  so  long,  too." 

"Yes — but  you  see,  pa  and  me  never  took  up  much 
with  new-fangled  notions  and  sort  of  kept  to  ourselves. 

188 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

We  never  felt  the  need  of  others  for  company,  so  long 
as  we  could  be  together. ' ' 

"You  and  uncle  Nat  think  a  lot  of  each  other."  The 
sigh  which  accompanied  the  words  was  caused  by  the 
thought  that  had  she  married  Bates  Freeman  she,  too, 
might  have  felt  that  way. 

"No  more  than  you  will  think  of  Peter  when  he  comes 
back  and  you  can  have  a  little  home  together." 

Bertha  made  no  answer.  But  in  her  heart  was  a 
half -formed  wish  that  he  would  not  come  back;  that 
Bates  would. 

In  the  afternoon  Bertha  wrote  letters;  one  to  Bates, 
a  long  one  in  which  she  told  him  of  all  the  good  times 
she  had  had;  of  Julia  and  the  others.  She  also  told 
him  she  had  refused  to  go  with  them  the  night  before, 
that  she  was  staying  home  for  the  day.  He  wasn't  to 
worry,  however;  she  was  all  right.  Just  a  little  tired. 

She  wrote  her  mother  a  short  note  in  which  she  told 
how  good  aunt  Martha  was  to  her,  and  in  which  she 
slipped  a  five-dollar  bill  to  hire  the  heavy  cleaning  done. 
She  felt  suddenly  guilty  that  she  was  being  so  lazy, 
while  her  mother  was  scrubbing  and  cleaning. 

Lastly  she  started  a  letter  to  Peter.  But  whereas  the 
other  letters  had  gone  easily,  she  bit  her  pen  point  and 
waited  some  time  before  she  even  started  the  usual 
"Dear  Peter." 

Then  after  waiting  a  while  she  commenced  again: 

"I  am  very  unhappy!  I  am  sick  and  miserable.  No 
man  has  a  right  to  marry  a  girl  just  to  get  married.  He 
should  care  enough  for  her  to  make  a  home  for  her  in- 
stead of  leaving  her  with  relatives,"  and  much  more 

189 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

that  was  fretful,  complaining,  also  unloving.  She  made 
no  pretence  in  her  letters  to  Peter.  The  word  love  never 
was  mentioned.  Perhaps  he  hadn't  noticed  the  omis- 
sion. But  in  her  letters  to  Bates  it  was  the  one  note  that 
ran  through  the  entire  page — her  love  for  him.  She 
complained  that  being  married  had  caused  her  uncle  to 
object  to  her  going  out,  to  her  having  any  pleasure.  It 
had  all  been  a  mistake.  She  was  too  young.  Peter 
should  have  known  better.  It  was  all  his  fault.  All 
her  friends  were  unmarried.  They  could  have  as  good 
a  time  as  they  wanted  to  without  being  criticized  and 
found  fault  with.  It  was  such  a  letter  as  would  take 
all  the  courage  out  of  a  man.  All  the  desire  to  make 
something  of  himself — his  life.  That  is  until  she  came 
to  the  end  of  the  sheet. 

"Worst  of  all  I  am  going  to  be  a  mother.  I  should 
have  refused  to  live  with  you  when  you  came  back  un- 
less you  remained.  Not  that  I  wanted  you  to  stay  with 
me;  but  I  didn't  want  this  either.  I  hate  the  idea  of 
being  forced  to  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  children. 
I  shall  keep  my  position  as  long  as  possible.  So  don't 
imagine  I  sha'n't!  BERTHA." 

Peter  received  Bertha's  letter  after  a  night  of  such 
fighting  as  had  left  him  exhausted  in  mind  and  body. 
He  had  lost  several  of  his  men,  and  was  saddened  over 
the  loss.  Others  had  been  dangerously  wounded.  The 
horror  of  it  remained  while  the  excitement  incident  upon 
action  was  gone.  Only  the  stark  awfulness  of  war  could 
be  seen  about  him. 

As  he  read  the  fretful,  complaining  letter  his  lips 
straightened  into  a  thin  line.  His  eyes  grew  more  and 

190 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

more  brooding ;  and  once  he  clutched  his  hand  that  held 
the  paper  so  tightly  that  before  he  could  finish  reading 
he  had  to  smooth  the  letter  out  on  his  khaki-clad  knee. 
When  he  reached  the  last  paragraph,  his  hand  went  to 
his  throat.  His  breath  stopped  short,  and  he  grew  grayly 
white  under  the  bronze  of  his  skin.  A  child — his ! 

"Oh,  God  grant  that  it  be  a  boy!"  he  prayed  aloud. 
To  have  a  girl-child,  a  replica,  perhaps,  of  Bertha, 
would  be  something  he  could  not  endure.  But  if  God 
would  give  him  a  boy,  then  he  could  take  a  hand  in  his 
training.  Already  he  saw  him  a  sturdy  little  chap,  full 
of  life,  manly,  honorable.  "A  boy,"  he  repeated,  clos- 
ing his  eyes. 

Peter's  perplexities  were  increased.  He  had  another 
life  to  think  of;  one  for  which  he  and  he  alone  was  re- 
sponsible. If  Bertha  only  would  consent  to  return  to 
Haynesville,  how  it  would  simplify  everything.  He  re- 
read the  letter  slowly,  not  skipping  a  single  word.  No, 
it  would  be  of  no  use.  She  would  only  resent  the  sug- 
gestion as  she. had  resented  it  before. 

Perhaps  the  baby  would — change  Bertha.  He  dis- 
missed the  thought  almost  before  he  formed  it.  He 
mustn't  fool  himself.  Nothing  would  ever  make  her 
different  from  what  she  was.  No,  he  must  prepare  him- 
self, his  own  heart,  his  own  soul,  for  this  new  responsi- 
bility. He  could  expect  no  help,  no  understanding  from 
Bertha.  Not  even  his  mother  could  help  in  this,  happy 
as  she  would  have  been,  could  she  have  done  so.  Bertha 
would  not  go  home. 

Later  in  the  day  Peter  went  to  one  of  the  hospital 
shacks  close  behind  the  lines.  Several  of  his  men  had 

191 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

been  carried  there.  As  he  entered  one  of  the  low,  tem- 
porary buildings,  which,  like  a  ghost,  rises  in  the  night, 
he  met  Madeline  Dawson. 

The  girl  hesitated — stopped — then  held  out  her  hand, 
and  her  voice  trembled  as  she  spoke.  She  looked  at  him 
in  a  sort  of  wonder ;  her  eyes  filled,  her  voice  faltered : 

' '  Oh — my  friend — what  is  it  1    What  has  happened  ? ' ' 

Peter  stood  silently  before  her.    He  seemed  to  reflect. 

"Nothing  that  anyone  can  help.  Least  of  all  you," 
then  turned  like  a  man  in  a  dream  and  entered  the 
shack.  "Within  Peter's  soul  great,  elemental,  primitive 
passions  struggled.  But  his  face  was  cold,  calm,  and 
steady  his  eyes,  as  he  found  his  way  to  where  some  of 
the  men  who  had  fought  the  battle  of  the  night  by  his 
side  now  lay  writhing  in  agony,  or  ominously  quiet. 

Madeline  Dawson  had  watched  Peter  until  the  door 
had  swung  to  behind  him.  Then  with  a  sigh  she  wiped 
her  eyes,  and  once  again  the  nurse,  the  woman  held  in 
abeyance,  she  went  on  her  way. 

When  once  more  alone  Peter  sat,  elbows  on  knees,  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

"I  should  be  glad,  I  should,"  he  muttered  over  and 
over,  yet  there  was  no  gladness  in  his  soul. 

"If  it  had  been,"  he  whispered — then  "good  God 
what  am  I  saying."  But  try  as  he  would  he  could  not 
banish  the  thought.  It  clung  to  him  until  his  duties 
left  no  room  for  anything  but  a  soldier's  work;  an 
officer 's  thought.  Men  in  authority  ' '  over  there ' '  cannot 
indulge  for  long  in  the  luxury  of  thinking  of  that  which 
has  nothing  to  do  with  their  work. 

Peter  had  learned  what  it  meant  to  men  in  the  bloody, 

192 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

soggy  trenches  to  have  a  cheerful  officer.  He  knew  that 
it  was  no  part  of  his  job  to  allow  his  private  affairs 
to  diminish  his  helpfulness.  Black  despair  often  over- 
took many  of  them.  The  great  German  maw  was  always 
extended  te  swallow  them.  It  was  his  duty  to  keep  his 
men,  in  so  far  as  he  was  able,  up  to  the  mark.  That 
meant  keeping  them  cheerful  and  as  happy  as  possible. 

Not  many  young  officers  had  his  over-developed  sense 
of  responsibility  toward  his  men.  He  felt  accountable 
for  each  and  every  one  of  them.  Not  only  for  their 
bodies,  but  in  a  sense  for  their  souls.  The  morale  of 
the  army  must  be  kept  at  the  highest  notch  possible. 
So  Peter,  after  an  hour  of  brooding,  straightened  his 
shoulders,  mentally  as  well  as  physically,  and  again  went 
at  it. 

The  next  day  he  wrote  Bertha  a  little  note.  He  told 
her  he  was  pleased ;  he  hoped  she  wouldn  't  be  unhappy 
or  worried,  and  that  she  would  give  up  her  position  at 
once  and  stay  quietly  and  happily  with  her  aunt.  He 
could  afford  to  pay  them  more  to  give  her  what  care 
she  needed.  It  was  a  kind,  a  gentle  letter,  but,  try  as  he 
would,  Peter  could  not  inject  anything  that  sounded  like 
love  in  what  he  said  to  Bertha. 

"He  knows  I  wouldn't  go  to  Haynesville,  so  he  didn't 
even  try  to  ask  me.  I  guess  he's  waking  up  to  the  fact 
I  won't  be  bossed,"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  read  his 
letter.  Then,  "I  wonder  where  Bates  is.  Peter  says 
they  are  having  some  terrible  battles.  I  hope  he  won't 
be  killed." 


193 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Now  there  was  a  still  greater  change  in  Peter.  He 
seemed  older,  and,  if  possible,  he  took  his  responsibilities 
even  more  seriously.  There  was  a  new  look  in  his  eyes, 
at  times  a  softness  crept  into  his  face.  But  he  went 
about  his  duties  with  the  same  precision,  neglecting  no 
smallest  detail  that  went  for  the  good  of  his  men,  the 
accomplishment  of  his  part  in  the  war. 

He  had  not  seen  Madeline  Dawson  again.  In  fact, 
he  made  several  detours  when  he  thought  it  likely  he 
might  run  across  her.  She  was  too  disturbing  a  factor 
to  risk  meeting,  often.  Even  in  his  thoughts  Peter  tried 
to  hold  himself  rigidly  to  his  marriage  vows.  But  at 
times,  when  wearied  or  a  bit  depressed  by  the  grewsome 
sights  about  him,  thoughts  of  her  would  flit  through  his 
mind,  and  he  would  press  his  hand  across  his  eyes  as  if 
that  would  shut  her  out. 

Occasionally  he  would  take  out  the  little  locket  con- 
taining Bertha's  picture.  He  would  study  the  weakly 
pretty  face  for  a  few  moments.  If  one  were  listening 
when  he  put  it  back  into  his  pocket  they  would  hear  a 
sigh;  perhaps  a  muttered  exclamation.  Peter  on  his 
visit  home  when  wounded  had  been  thoroughly  disillu- 
sioned regarding  Bertha. 

His  old  excuse  for  her:  "She's  only  a  girl,"  now 

194 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

never  occurred  to  him.  She  was  more  than  a  girl;  she 
was  a  determined,  clever  woman,  bent  on  having  her  own 
way,  living  her  own  life  regardless  of  whom  she  might 
hurt.  And  Peter  had  realized  this.  He  also  had  seen 
how  more  than  useless  it  was  to  expect  her  to  change. 

Peter  tried  not  to  think  of  Bertha.  The  awfulness  of 
a  life  lived  with  her,  with  anyone  who  could  not  under- 
stand him,  made  the  thought  of  death  in  the  battle-field 
tempting.  And  wherever  there  was  fighting  for  his  men, 
there  Peter  was  always  to  be  found  leading  them,  al- 
ways in  the  thick  of  things ;  always  careless  of  self,  while 
taking  every  care  of  those  under  him. 

Peter  was  as  popular  with  the  Americans,  the  boys 
of  his  own  country,  as  he  had  been  and  still  was  with 
the  British.  And  along  with  his  popularity  went  an 
immense  respect.  His  ambition  to  make  all  he  could 
of  himself,  his  devotion  to  the  cause  for  which  he  was 
fighting;  the  cause  that  had  at  last  brought  America 
into  the  conflict,  was  intense.  He  hated  the  sight  of 
blood;  he  naturally  was  of  a  peaceful  disposition  and 
yet  he  would  fight  like  the  very  devil. 

' '  He  is  a  very  devil  when  he  gets  a  chance  at  a  Hun, ' ' 
one  of  his  men  replied,  when  another  had  said  he  fought 
like  his  Satanic  Majesty. 

And  through  it  all  Peter  had  a  hopeless  hope  that 
some  time,  some  way  something  would  happen  that  would 
make  him  reconciled  to  life  as  he  saw  it,  with  Bertha,  if 
he  lived  through  the  war. 

The  essential  self  in  him  longed  for  the  understanding 
which  looked  out  at  him  from  Madeline  Dawson's  clear 
eyes.  Oftentimes  he  gloomed  because  of  his  inability  to 

195 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

be  with  her.  Then  again  he  would  spend  part  of  his 
precious  time  trying  to  avoid  her.  Yet  when  he  did 
meet  her  the  joy  in  his  eyes,  oftentimes  the  naive  pleasure 
he  showed,  led  Madeline,  who  knew  absolutely  nothing 
of  him  save  that  he  was  a  brave  soldier  and  that  his 
men  adored  him,  to  hold  her  breath  and  wonder  why  he 
should  look  so  much  and  say — nothing.  But  she  had 
such  faith  in  life  that  she  retained  her  serenity  when 
she  met  him,  while  she  never  attempted  to  hide  her 
pleasure  in  his  society. 

There  were,  however,  long  lapses  of  time  when  they 
did  not  see  each  other.  When  he,  in  the  trenches  with 
his  men,  was  the  first  over  the  top  when  the  signal  came ; 
and  she  in  the  shack  near  the  firing  line  bent  over  her 
"babies,"  as  she  called  the  wounded  soldiers,  making 
them  as  comfortable  as  possible,  then  doing  the  little 
things  that  a  woman  like  her  would  do.  Writing  their 
letters,  telling  them  stories,  gaily  bantering  them  when, 
because  of  their  bandaged  eyes,  they  could  not  see  that 
her  own  were  full  of  tears.  Oh,  there  was  little  that 
Madeline  Dawson  did  not  do  in  those  days — little  that 
Peter  did  not  vision  her  as  doing. 

"The  English  angel,"  the  wounded  called  her. 

Peter  possessed  imagination,  and  often  it  became  mor- 
bidly vivid.  When  he  had  to  force  his  way  through 
rows  of  dead  in  No  Man's  Land,  he  always  thought 
that,  perhaps,  there  was  a  woman  like  Madeline  some- 
where who  loved  them.  Strangely,  he  never  thought  of 
them  as  being  tied  to  a  Bertha.  Some  of  them,  one  could 
never  tell  whether  they  had  been  friend  or  foe,  were 
part  way  out  of  the  ground.  A  hand  or  foot  sticking 

196 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

out,  so  that  one  had  to  be  careful  or  he  would  stumble 
over  them.  Always  came  the  thought  to  Peter: 

"Some  woman  loves  them,"  and  he  would  step  care- 
fully over  the  grewsome  objects,  treading  softly,  as  if 
in  fear  of  waking  them  before  the  resurrection  trump 
should  sound.  And  often  the  woman  had  eyes  like 
Madeline  Dawson,  her  pitying,  tender  smile. 

Peter  had  written  his  mother  that  Bertha  would  soon 
be  a  mother.  That  several  months  intervened  made  no 
difference.  He  did  not  even  speak  of  her  going  back  to 
Haynesville,  and  in  that  omission  his  mother  read  some- 
thing of  his  despair.  That  it  had  been  his  hope  to  have 
her  return  she  knew ;  how  much  more  now  must  he  desire 
it.  Mrs.  Moore  answered  his  letter  at  once. 

"Dear  Son:  How  proud  and  happy  you  must  be.  I 
am  so  glad  for  you  and  for  Bertha.  A  baby  can  do 
strange  things  for  a  woman.  Its  little  life  so  interwoven 
with  hers  is  a  wonderful  influence.  I  shall  write  her 
at  once  how  pleased  I  am ;  and  I  am  sure  her  own  mother 
and  father  will  be  no  less  happy  over  the  news. 

"You  have  now,  dear  son,  something  more  to  live 
for,  one  more  reason  why  you  should  not  recklessly  ex- 
pose yourself,  and  another  reason  also  for  living  clean. 
Not  that  I  doubt  that  you  have,  and  will;  but  often 
things  arise  in  the  course  of  our  lives,  things  which 
under  different  circumstances  would  be  perfectly  nat- 
ural for  us  to  do,  but  which  again,  given  certain  other 
conditions,  are  very  wrong. 

"I  hope  Bertha  will  stay  with  her  aunt  Martha,  as 
she  will  not  come  back  to  Haynesville.  She  will  take 
good  care  of  her,  I  am  sure.  Caution  her,  Peter,  not  to 

197 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

work  too  hard.  A  healthy  baby  means  a  great  deal  to  a 
young  mother.  And  if  she  overdoes  the  baby  will  surely 
feel  the  effects. 

"You  say  you  are  in  some  pretty  stiff  fights.  I  know 
what  that  means,  Peter,  and  at  times  I  rebel  at  your 
danger.  Then  my  good  sense  asserts  itself,  and  I  would 
not  have  you  do  one  thing  different.  We  must  all  go, 
and  if  God's  good  time  for  you  is  now  we  will  not  com- 
plain. But  some  way,  dear,  I  feel  that  you  will  be 
spared;  that  you  will  come  back  to  us.  If  prayer  and 
faith  in  the  goodness  of  God  will  help,  you  surely 
will. 

"We  are  very  proud  of  you,  "Peter.  Not  only  that 
you  are  a  soldier,  but  because  of  your  determination  to 
make  yourself  all  that  you  can.  Father  often  speaks 
of  it;  and  wishes  he  might  have  given  you  a  college 
education.  Things  would  have  been  easier,  per- 
haps— and  perhaps  some  things  might  have  been 
harder. 

"You  have  said  nothing  of  that  young  nurse.  Is  she 
still  nursing  near  you?  Do  you  ever  see  her?  Forgive 
the  questions,  Peter,  but  a  mother  remembers  and  is 
interested  in  every  slightest  thing  that  interests  the  boy 
she  loves. 

"I  will  stop  now.  Everyone  is  well.  Thomas  Brooks 
declares  he  is  going  to  live  until  the  war  is  over,  and 
that  he  will  be  here  to  welcome  you  back  to  Haynesville. 
His  rheumatism  is  very  bad  this  year,  but  he  never 
grumbles.  He  says,  'The  boys  are  the  ones  who  are 
having  it  hard,  not  we  who  can  stay  home  and  nurse  our 
rheumatiz.' 

198 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Father  sends  love,  and  you  know  that  we  both  love 
and  pray  for  you  constantly.  MOTHER." 

Peter  re-read  the  letter  and  smiled  sadly  when  he 
realized  that  his  mother  had  referred  to  his  love  for 
Madeline  Dawson  when  she  had  said  that  certain  things 
which  under  different  conditions  might  have  been  right 
under  other  conditions  were  wrong. 

"Dear  mother.  She  understands,"  he  murmured, 
then  smiled  as  he  came  to  the  questions  concerning 
Madeline,  questions  so  naively  put,  but  which  told  him 
his  mother  had  thought  of  his  confession,  had  perhaps 
worried  a  little  over  him  and  Madeline  Dawson. 

"I  must  write  her  that  she's  not  to  worry  about  us," 
he  said,  aloud,  as  he  folded  the  letter  away  in  his  pocket. 

Peter,  fortunately  for  his  peace  of  mind,  had  no  idea 
that  Madeline  Dawson  cared  at  all  for  him;  or 
that  she  ever  thought  of  him.  Although  once  or  twice 
when  he  had  seen  a  look  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes  at  meet- 
ing him,  he  had  thought  it  might  have  been  possible  if — 
he  always  compelled  his  thoughts  to  halt  when  they 
reached  that  point.  That  "if"  was  an  ever-present  hin- 
drance to  further  intriguing.  Had  he  known  that  since 
she  first  knew  him  he  and  he  only  had  been  the  one  man 
in  all  the  world  for  her ;  that  she  had  seen  the  love-long- 
ing in  his  eyes  and  even  now  was  waiting  for  the  time 
to  come  when  he  would  tell  her  of  his  love,  he  would 
have  been  astonished,  and,  in  a  manner,  horrified.  But 
Peter,  totally  unconscious  that  he  had  shown  his  love 
for  her  in  any  way,  supposing  his  secret  locked  in  his 
breast,  hugged  it  close  or  determinedly  tried  to  forget 
it,  according  to  the  mood  in  which  he  happened  to  be. 

199 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

His  mother's  letter  had  brought  him  closer  to  the 
subject  than  he  had  been  for  many  days.  Her  ques- 
tions, her  camouflaged  motherly  anxiety,  had  brought 
his  love  surging  like  a  wave  through  him.  Sleepless  he 
fought  for  strength  to  live  his  life  as  it  must  be  lived. 
Again,  as  in  every  crucial  time  in  his  life  "must"  be- 
came his  slogan;  the  one  thing  to  do  was  that  which 
must  be  done  if  he  would  keep  his  self-respect,  his 
honor  as  a  man.  So  when  he  answered  his  mother's 
letter  he  spoke  freely  of  Madeline  to  her  as  he  would 
have  spoken  of  any  other  acquaintance.  But  once  again 
Mrs.  Moore,  as  she  laid  the  letter  in  the  Bible  beside  the 
others  he  had  written,  murmured: 

"Poor  Peter!" 

When  Bertha  could  no  longer  go  about  with  her 
gay  crowd,  she  became  morose  and  dull.  All  her 
old  nonchalance  left  her,  and  when  alone  she  wept 
most  of  the  time.  In  one  respect,  however,  she  was  un- 
changed ;  that  was  in  her  enthusiasm  for  her  work.  All 
her  energy  was  given  to  proving  what  she  could  do  as  a 
saleswoman.  She  had  been  advanced  until  now  she  was 
over  all  the  other  girls,  Julia  Lawrence  included.  Most 
of  them,  like  Julia,  had  been  there  a  very  long  time, 
much  longer  than  she  had,  and  some  of  them  were  in- 
clined to  be  jealous.  But  Bertha  cared  nothing  for 
their  jealousies;  nothing  for  them,  in  fact.  Julia  was 
the  only  girl  in  the  shop  with  whom  she  was  at  all 
intimate,  and  Julia  didn't  care  that  Bertha  had  a  better 
position  than  she  had. 

"What's  the  use  working  so  hard?  Work  will  be  here 
when  I'm  dead  and  gone,"  she  said,  when  Bertha 

200 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

rather  apologetically  told  of  her  promotion.  "You 
make  me  tired!  You  don't  need  to  work  at  all  if  you 
don't  want  to.  I  saw  you  had  a  letter  from  Bates 
yesterday.'* 

Bertha  ignored  the  implication  in  her  reply: 

"It  keeps  me  from  thinking." 

"Are  you  going  to  stay  on  with  your  aunt?" 

"Yes — for  the  present.  Perhaps  later  on  I  may  do 
different — I  don't  know."  Then,  in  a  burst  of  despair, 
"I  don't  know  what  I  am  going  to  do;  sometimes  I  wish 
I  was  dead!" 

"You're  a  long  time  dead,  Bertha;  don't  give  way 
like  that.  Why,  you'll  soon  be  over  your  trouble"  (that 
was  the  way  both  girls  thought  and  spoke  of  Bertha's 
coming  motherhood  as  "trouble")  "then  you  can  have  a 
good  time  again." 

"How,  I'd  like  to  know?  It  is  a  very  different  thing 
working  here  from  staying  all  day  at  Aunt  Martha's." 

"But  you  don't  have  to  stay  there.  You  can  get 
someone  to  look  after  the  child,  and  come  back  here. ' ' 

Bertha  brightened.  She  had  not  thought  of  that. 
She  had  only  thought  of  doing  as  all  the  young  mothers 
in  Haynesville  did — devote  all  their  time  to  caring  for 
their  children.  Perhaps  it  wouldn't  quite  spoil  her  life, 
after  all. 

"But  my  job  here  will  be  gone;  they'll  get  someone 
to  take  my  place,  perhaps  give  it  to  some  of  the  other 
girls — I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  if  they  gave  it  to  you," 
Bertha  added,  feeling  she  had  said  something  unkind. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  that!  This  firm  knows  when 
they  are  well  off.  They  ain't  never  had  a  saleswoman 

201 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

who  could  touch  you.  Why,  you  sell  five  hats  to  my 
one,  and  I  do  better  than  most  of  them.  I'll  bet  you  a 
pair  of  gloves  they'll  jump  at  the  chance  of  getting  you 
back.  Why  don't  you  tell  them  what's  the  matter,  and 
ask  them  if  they  will  save  your  place  for  you  ? ' ' 

"Then  I'd  have  to  tell  I  was  married." 

"You  needn't  tell  anyone  but  the  boss.  She  wouldn't 
give  you  away.  I  heard  she  was  married  and  divorced 
herself ;  but  she  goes  as  Miss,  same  as  you  do. ' ' 

"I  wonder,"  Bertha  said  thoughtfully;  then — "per- 
haps I  will.  But  I  couldn't  ask  Aunt  Martha  to 

"You  wouldn't  have  to!"  Julia  interrupted;  "with 
what  you  earn  and  that  soldier  husband  of  yours  sends 
you,  what's  the  reason  you  couldn't  take  one  of  them 
little  three  or  four-room  flats  and  hire  a  girl?  You 
pay  your  board  at  your  aunt's,  and  it  wouldn't  take  a 
great  deal  more.  Then  there's  Bates.  He  would  give 
you  all  you  needed.  I  can't  understand  your  not  getting 
a  wad  and  salting  it  when  he  was  so  stuck  on  you. ' ' 

Bertha  made  no  reply.  She  had  no  intention  of  tell- 
ing Julia  of  the  five  hundred  dollars  she  had  "salted" 
nor  of  the  occasional  fifty  dollars  she  had  added  to  it, 
until  now  she  had  more  than  one  thousand  dollars  in 
the  bank. 

"I  hadn't  thought  of  anything  like  that,  Julia — a 
flat,  I  mean.  Perhaps  that  would  be  a  good  idea." 
.  "Of  course,  it  is  a  good  idea ;  then  you'll  be  your  own 
boss,  too.  You  can  come  and  go  as  you  like,  and  no  one 
to  find  fault.  You  say  your  aunt  and  uncle  have  been 
disagreeable  lately  when  you  stayed  out.  You'd  have 
none  of  that  sort  of  thing  to  put  up  with.  And  even  if 

202 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

you  are  going  to  have  a  baby,  you  are  young  and  pretty, 
and  Peter  may  never  show  up  again.  It  was  a  pity  he 
had  to  get  hurt  and  come  where  you  were  anyway." 

"I  think  I  will  look  around  for  a  flat.  Will  you  go 
with  me?"  Bertha  had  not  heard  one  word  of  what 
Julia  said  about  Peter.  Her  mind  was  on  the  new  sug- 
gestion of  a  flat;  and  how  through  it  she  could  escape 
from  the  criticism  of  her  relatives,  which  annoyed  her 
more  and  more  as  time  passed. 

"You  bet,  I  will!    I'll  go  any  time  you  like." 

"Thank  you,  Julia.  I'll  wait  until  after  I  tell  the 
boss  and  leave  here.  Then  if  you  will  go  with  me  some 
Sunday,  perhaps  we  can  find  a  place  I  can  afford  to 
rent.  Peter  thinks  I  am  going  to  stay  with  Aunt  Mar- 
tha; but  I'm  not!" 

Bertha  immediately  acted  upon  Julia's  advice.  That 
very  night  she  waited  until  after  the  other  girls  had 
gone,  then  asked  Miss  Harris,  the  proprietor,  if  she 
might  talk  to  her. 

' '  Certainly,  Miss  Moore, ' '  her  tone  anxious.  Was  she 
to  lose  her  most  valuable  saleswoman?  If  it  were  a 
matter  of  wages,  why  she  would  pay  almost  anything, 
although  she  had  very  lately  given  her  a  raise. 

Bertha  told  her  story,  stumblingly,  haltingly.  She 
told  of  the  sudden  marriage,  and  the  more  sudden  leave- 
taking;  then  of  Peter's  visit  home  when  wounded.  She 
made  no  excuses  for  passing  herself  off  as  a  single 
woman ;  none  was  needed.  She  had  done  her  work  well. 
That  was  all  that  concerned  Miss  Harris,  that  and  her 
desire  to  come  back. 

"I'm  astonished,  Miss  Moore,  and  sorry  to  lose  you 

203 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

even  for  a  short  time.  You  won't  leave  me  altogether, 
will  you?  You'll  come  back  aa  soon  as  you  are  able. 
I  can  understand  that  it  will  cost  you  more  to  live  after 
the  child  comes,  and  I  will  raise  your  salary  five  dollars 
a  week,  besides  paying  you  part  of  your  salary  while  you 
are  away.  But  you  must  not  leave  me.  My  customers 

are  used  to  you,  like  you  and "  she  stopped ;  she  had 

nearly  said  they  would  follow  Bertha  if  she  went  with 
another  firm.  Which  she  knew  would  happen. 

If  Miss  Harris  had  been  astonished,  Bertha  was  more 
so.  She  was  paralyzed  at  the  ease  with  which  her  prob- 
lems were  being  met.  It  seemed  that  everyone  was  will- 
ing to  help  her  always  to  do  the  things  Peter,  in  his 
narrowness,  would  be  sure  to  object  to  her  doing. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Harris.  I  will  accept  your  offer 
and  return  as  soon  as  possible,"  Bertha  finally  replied 
with  considerable  dignity.  It  was  hard  to  hide  her 
delight  at  the  turn  things  were  taking;  but  Bertha,  as 
well  as  Miss  Harris,  was  a  good  business  woman.  She 
was  quick  and  keen  where  her  own  interests  were  con- 
cerned. She  realized  immediately  the  fear  her  employer 
had  of  losing  her;  and,  although  Miss  Harris  had  not 
spoken  of  it,  she  knew  what  had  been  in  her  mind  when 
she  broke  off  so  abruptly.  "She  is  afraid  I'll  go  some- 
where else  and  take  her  customers  along  with  me." 

"When  will  you  have  to  leave  me?" 

"Next  week.  And,  Miss  Harris,  please  don't  tell  any- 
one what  I  have  told  you — that  I  am  married. ' ' 

"No,  indeed,  I  shall  not !  It  is  better  for  the  business 
to  have  unmarried  employees  anyway."  Showing  that 
she  also  thought  of  self  first. 

204 


' '  Thank  you. ' '  They  bade  each  other  good-night,  each 
feeling  they  had  won  out. 

"I'd  have  given  her  full  pay  and  ten  dollars  a  week 
more  rather  than  lose  her,"  Miss  Harris  said  to  herself 
as  she  looked  over  the  sales  of  the  day. 

"I  would  have  stayed  for  the  same,  and  no  pay  while 
I  was  absent,"  Bertha  murmured,  as  she  walked  slowly 
to  the  car.  She  had  commenced  to  take  the  car  now. 
She  would  need  more  money  to  get  along,  and  there  was 
one  thing  upon  which  she  would  not  use  the  slightest 
economy — her  clothes.  Her  stylish  appearance  was  her 
greatest  comfort.  It  had  been  her  open  sesame  with 
Bates  Freeman  and  his  set.  She  would  economize  in 
other  ways  for  a  time;  but  not  in  what  she  spent  for 
clothes. 

"She  was  mighty  afraid  I'd  go  and  take  her  best 
customers  with  me,"  she  went  on  with  her  soliloquy. 
"Glad  I  know  I'm  so  valuable.  Maybe  some  time  I'll 
do  it.  But  I  guess  I'd  rather  work  for  her.  I  don't 
have  so  much  responsibility." 

The  next  day  Bertha  told  Julia  Lawrence  the  result 
of  her  talk  with  Miss  Harris. 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  I  knew  she  wouldn't  let  you 
go.  Why,  you're  worth  more  than  all  the  rest  of  us 
put  together  when  it  comes  to  selling  hats. ' '  There  was 
a  little  jealousy  in  the  tone,  and  Bertha  quickly  re- 
sponded : 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind,  Julia.  If  she  had  said  you 
could  have  the  place  I  wouldn't  have  come  back." 

"Don't  talk  like  a  fool!  I  guess  with  a  kid  cominer 
you  need  it  a  darn  sight  more  than  I  do.  I  ain't  jealous, 

205 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

honest  I  ain't,  Bertha.  I  know  you  are  worth  more 
than  I  am,  but  I  am  going  to  try  to  sell  a  few  more 
hats,  even  if  it  does  mean  harder  work."  She  made  a 
grimace.  "I  could  use  a  dollar  or  two  more  a  week  if  I 
had  it." 

"You  could  sell  as  many  as  I  do,  if  you  tried,  Julia." 

"No,  I  couldn't!  You  act  as  if  you  loved  every  single 
hat  you  touched.  The  customers  see  it,  too.  They  think 
you  wouldn't  sell  them  a  hat  that  didn't  look  good  on 
them  to  make  a  sale.  That's  what  makes  them  buy  of 
you  more  than  from  us  girls  who  sell  them  just  as  if 
they  was  a  basket  of  potatoes,  or  a  bunch  of  carrots." 

"  I  do  love  them,  Julia.  Love  to  handle  them.  I  don 't 
think  it  is  any  help  to  the  business  to  sell  an  unbecoming 
hat ;  they  go  somewhere  else  next  time  if  you  do.  Some- 
one is  sure  to  tell  them  they  don't  look  good  in  it.  Then 
they  blame  the  saleswoman." 

"Perhaps.  You  ought  to  be  in  business  for  yourself, 
Bertha." 

"No,  thank  you!  I'd  rather  work  for  Miss  Harris." 
Then  added,  "But  some  time  I  may  feel  different." 


206 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AT  the  end  of  the  week  Bertha  said  good-bye  to  the 
girls  in  the  shop,  telling  them  only  that  she  was  going 
to  take  a  little  vacation.  Aunt  Martha  was  delighted 
and  made  a  great  fuss  over  her.  The  good  woman 
thought  that  now  Bertha  had  come  to  her  senses  and 
would  be  willing  to  live  as  a  married  woman  should — • 
in  her,  Aunt  Martha's,  opinion. 

"You  see,  she  was  just  kind  of  wild  and  giddy-like, 
because  Peter  couldn't  stay  with  her,  like  other  fellows 
do  when  they  are  married, ' '  she  said  to  her  husband  the 
night  Bertha  had  told  her  she  was  going  to  stay  home 
now. 

"Time  she  got  a  little  common  sense,"  he  grumbled, 
no  whit  less  pleased  than  was  his  wife  to  have  Bertha 
with  them.  "It  takes  a  heap  sight  sometimes  to  make 
a  woman  of  a  girl  like  Bertha.  She  ain't  never  seemed 
to  care  for  anything  but  clothes  and  a  good  time,  and 
her  with  a  husband  like  Peter  Moore.  Why,  he  ain't 
no  blood  relation  to  me,  but  I  am  that  proud  of  him  I 
almost  bust,  and  the  men  at  the  shop  say  I  can't  talk 
of  nothing  else.  I  got  a  service  button  for  Bertha  to-day, 
with  one  star  on  it."  Then  he  added  sheepishly,  "I  got 
one  for  you  and  me,  too,  mother.  Even  if  he  ain't  our 
real  nephew,  I  feel  like  he  was,  and  I  guess  the  govern- 

207 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

ment  ain't  going  to  make  us  any  trouble  for  wearing  it, 
when  we  feel  as  we  do  toward  him,  and  ain't  got  any 
eons  of  our  own  to  give.  I  wish  they'd  take  me." 

"Nonsense,  Nat!  What  could  you  do?  Don't  you 
remember  what  Peter  told  us  about  them  trenches  being 
knee  deep  with  mud  and  water;  and  about  that  awful 
place  they  call  'No  Man's  Land,'  what  was  oozing  mud 
and  blood  so  deep  with  corpses  getting  unburied  and 
coming  up  on  the  surface,  and  all  them  other  horrid 
things.  Nice  one  you'd  be  in  the  trenches  with  your 
rheumatiz  so  bad  you  can  hardly  walk  at  times.  And 
what  would  you  do  in  No  Man's  Land?  Why  you'd 
be  dead  in  an  hour.  I  guess,  Nathaniel  Robinson,  that 
you  are  doing  more  good  right  in  the  factory  than  you 
would  anywhere  else.  And  as  for  wanting  to  fight,  ain't 
you  fighting  just  as  much  as  if  you  was  over  there 
where  you'd  be  in  the  way?  I  guess  you  can  wear  the 
button,  all  right,  Nat!"  Her  voice  softened;  then,  as 
she  pinned  the  one  he  had  given  her  on  her  ample  bosom, 
she  said:  "And  I  don't  see  no  need  of  explaining  that 
Peter  is  a  nephew  by  marriage.  It  ain't  nobody's  busi- 
ness, as  I  can  see." 

"I  ain't  told  a  soul,  Martha,"  Mr.  Robinson  chuckled, 
"I  have  always  said,  'my  nephew,  Lieutenant  Moore,'  ' 
He  chuckled  again  as  he  also  pinned  on  his  service  pin 
with  its  single  star. 

"Bertha  will  be  pleased.  I'll  take  hers  right  up  to 
her,"  and  Aunt  Martha  climbed  the  stairs  to  find  Bertha 
looking  disconsolately  out  of  the  window,  the  tiny  gar- 
ment upon  which  she  had  been  sewing  fallen  to  the 
floor. 

208 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Uncle  Nat  is  home,  and  he  brought  you  this,"  she 
said,  laying  the  tiny  pin  on  the  girl's  lap. 

"Thank  you,"  Bertha  said,  looking  down  for  a  mo- 
ment, then  resuming  her  former  position. 

"Your  uncle  is  awful  glad  you  are  going  to  stay  at 
home  with  us.  And  he  is  so  proud  of  Peter.  He  got 
him  and  me  a  pin,  too. ' ' 

Bertha  made  no  reply. 

"Don't  get  so  down-hearted,  Bertha.  I  know  it  is 
hard  to  bear  with  Peter  away.  But  your  uncle  and  me 
will  do  all  we  can  to  make  you  happy — if  you  will  let  us. 
And  Bertha,"  a  slow  flush  rose  to  the  older  woman's 
face,  "it  will  seem  like  heaven  to  have  a  baby  in  the 
house.  We  never  had  no  children,  Nat  and  me.  It  has 
been  the  only  thing  about  our  lives  together  that  wasn't 
quite  happy.  And  we  will  be  so  glad  to  have  you  here 
with  us."  Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  Mrs.  Robinson 
left  the  room,  calling  when  she  reached  the  head  of  the 
stairs :  ' '  Dinner  will  be  ready  in  fifteen  minutes. ' ' 

Bertha  had  very  nearly  told  her  aunt  that  she  was 
not  going  to  stay  with  them  after  her  baby  came.  Then 
her  intense  selfishness  made  her  hold  her  tongue.  She 
was  a  bit  frightened  at  the  ordeal  before  her.  She 
would  get  not  only  care,  but  love  and  sympathy  here. 
She  would  say  nothing  until  she  was  ready  to  leave. 

' '  They  must  think  I  am  a  fool,  to  give  up  everything 
and  stay  here  with  them  just  because  of  this,"  she  mur- 
mured. "They  wouldn't  want  me  to  stir.  It  is  bad 
enough  when  there  is  only  Peter.  It  will  be  worse  then. 
Not  on  their  lives!" 

When  Bertha  rose  to  go  down  to  dinner  the  service 

209 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

pin  slid  from  her  lap  on  to  the  tiny  little  dress,  which 
still  lay  on  the  floor  at  her  feet.  Without  noticing,  she 
went  downstairs. 

"Where's  your  pin?"  her  uncle  asked  fingering 
proudly  the  lapel  of  his  coat,  upon  which  his  shone 
brightly. 

"Upstairs.  I  forgot  to  put  it  on.  Thank  you  for  it." 
But  her  voice  was  so  cold,  so  indifferent,  Mr.  Robinson 's 
enthusiasm  was  chilled,  and  he  said  no  more.  Although 
had  one  been  watching  they  would  have  noticed  that 
several  times  his  hand  crept  up  to  the  pin  for  a  moment. 

According  to  promise,  Julia  went  flat-hunting  with 
Bertha.  Not  one  Sunday,  but  two  or  three.  It  was  not 
easy  to  find  a  place  that  suited  both  Bertha's  now  rather 
fastidious  taste,  and  her  pocketbook.  At  times  she  was 
ready  to  give  up  and  remain  at  Aunt  Martha's.  But  at 
such  times  Julia  was  always  ready  with  her  objections. 

"You  know  you'll  never  have  a  minute's  freedom  if 
you  stay  there,"  she  had  said  when  Bertha  had  de- 
clared that  rather  than  look  further  she  would  talk  to 
Mrs.  Robinson,  tell  her  she  was  going  to  keep  her  posi- 
tion and  ask  her  advice  as  to  what  to  do  with  the  child. 

"She  might  offer  to  take  care  of  it,  so  that  we  would 
stay,"  had  been  the  remark  that  had  called  forth  Julia's 
declaration. 

"I  know  I  wouldn't,"  Bertha  had  replied.  "Oh, 
Julia,  why  was  I  such  a  fool  as  to  get  married?"  Then 
reverting  to  the  subject  then  occupying  them:  "Of 
course,  I  couldn't  go  out  with  you  and  the  crowd  if  I 
stayed  there.  Uncle  Nat  doesn't  want  me  to,  even  now. 
He's  all  the  time  preaching  about  a  wife's  place  being 

210 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

at  home,  and  telling  me  what  my  duty  to  Peter 
is.  He  went  and  bought  me  a  pin  with  a  star  on  it  to 
wear.  Just  as  if  I  was  going  to  advertise  I  was  married 
to  a  soldier.  You  know  if  I  wore  it  everyone  would  ask 
who  it  was  for  and  I'd  have  to  either  tell  them,  'my 
husband'  or  lie.  Oh,  everything  is  so  snarled!" 

"You  are  half  sick,  that's  why  things  seem  so  bad  to 
you.  We'll  soon  find  a  place.  I  tell  you  what  I'll  do. 
I'll  go  to  some  real  estate  agents,  tell  them  just  what 
we  want,  and  get  a  list.  Then  we  won't  waste  so  much 
time. "  They  had  been  looking  up  the  advertisements  of 
flats  to  let  in  the  papers. 

"All  right.    But  I  am  almost  discouraged." 

"We'll  surely  find  something  soon." 

It  was  no  part  of  Julia  Lawrence's  plan  to  have 
Bertha  live  with  her  aunt.  She  constantly  looked  for 
Bates  to  return  and  marry  Bertha.  But  if  he  didn't,  it 
would  be  nice  to  have  a  chum  who  had  a  flat.  She  might 
often  take  her  beaux  there,  and  in  other  ways  it  would 
make  it  pleasant  for  her,  Julia.  As  always,  Julia  Law- 
rence had  an  eye  to  her  own  comfort  in  all  she  did  for 
others.  She  knew  she  had  a  great  influence  over  the 
weak  Bertha,  and  she  never  hesitated  to  use  it  for  her 
own  advantage. 

Finally,  one  day  they  found  exactly  what  Bertha 
wanted  on  the  list  an  agent  had  given  them.  It  was  a 
new  house,  and  although  the  four  rooms  were  tiny,  they 
were  prettily  decorated.  There  was  no  elevator,  but,  as 
Julia  said: 

"What  can  you  expect  for  two-ninety-eight?" 

The  rent  was  thirty-five  dollars  a  month.  It  seemed  a 

211 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

good  deal,  but  what  she  paid  her  aunt,  and  the  raise 
Miss  Harris  had  promised  her  would  go  a  good 
ways  toward  paying  her  living  expenses  beside  the  rent. 

"You  can  furnish  it  on  the  installment  plan,  and  you 
are  so  handy  with  a  needle,  you  can  make  it  lovely. " 

Bertha  paid  a  small  deposit.  The  agent  would  hold 
it  for  her.  She  had  no  idea  of  taking  Julia's  advice  as 
to  the  installment  plan.  She  would  take  part  of  the 
money  Bates  had  given  her.  But  she  would  have  only 
wicker  furniture,  and  cretonnes  which  she  would  make 
up  herself  for  hangings.  The  dining-room  and  living- 
room  were  one,  so  she  would  need  no  dining-room  furni- 
ture. Just  a  good-sized  table.  One  bedroom  was  to  be 
for  the  maid  and  the  child.  The  other  for  herself.  The 
tiny  kitchen  and  bathroom  would  be  easy  to  fix  up  by 
degrees. 

At  times,  when  Mrs.  Robinson  planned  what  they 
would  do,  as  they  sat  sewing  together,  Bertha  felt  a  wild 
desire  to  stop  her.  To  tell  her  what  she  had  done.  But 
policy  kept  her  silent,  although  she  would  flush  guiltily. 

Her  mother  had  written  pleading  for  her  to  come 
home;  then  offering  to  come  to  her  if  she  would  not. 
Bertha  had  absolutely  refused  to  go  home,  and  had  said 
she  would  be  all  right  with  Aunt  Martha,  so  her  mother 
needn't  come.  But  both  Mrs.  Hunter  and  Mrs.  Moore 
had  sent  her  a  box  of  dainty  hand-made  things  for  the 
little  one's  coming,  such  pretty  things.  They  almost 
reconciled  Bertha  to  what  was  now  but  a  bitterness. 

Then  one  morning,  just  as  the  sun  rose  and  flooded 
the  room  where  she  lay,  Bertha's  baby  was  born. 

Peter  had  his  wish.    It  was  a  boy. 

212 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

When  they  told  Bertha,  her  aunt  asked: 

"Will  you  call  him  Peter?" 

Bertha  shook  her  head.  She  didn't  much  care  what 
he  was  named.  But  now  that  it  had  been  spoken  of,  she 
would  have  to  think  about  it.  Peter  was  such  a  homely 
name.  No,  she  wouldn't  name  him  Peter. 

"His  father  would  be  pleased  if  you  did,"  her  aunt 
said,  with  disappointment  in  her  voice.  To  please  Peter, 
the  soldier-father,  seemed  to  her  the  natural  thing  for 
the  young  mother  to  do. 

Peter's  prayer  had  been  granted.  His  child  was  a 
boy.  When  he  heard,  a  surge  of  joy  swept  through  him 
and  almost  overwhelmed  him.  It  rather  surprised  him 
in  that  it  was  not  entirely  because  he  had  a  son. 
It  was  the  fact  that  he  was  a  father  that  gripped 
him. 

' '  Make  me  worthy, ' '  he  prayed  silently.  Then  fell  to 
wondering  if  his  father  and  mother  felt  like  this  when 
he  was  born,  and  if  that  accounted  for  the  wonderful 
love  they  had  poured  out  upon  him  all  his  life. 

Suddenly  Peter  felt  rich.  He  owned  something.  That 
tiny  bit  of  humanity  so  far  away  was  his — his  and 
Bertha's.  Yet  even  as  he  included  her  in  the  ownership 
his  clear  vision  made  him  see  that  the  child  would  not 
mean  so  much  to  her  as  to  him ;  that  no  child  could.  Yet 
that  she  would  not  rejoice  over  her  son  would  have 
seemed  unnatural.  So  he  wrote  her  a  long  letter  in 
which  he  took  joy  for  granted  and  in  which  he  told  her 
of  his  own. 

' '  I  find  myself  already  planning  what  we  shall  do  for 
him  as  he  grows  older.  How  we  will  give  him  a  good 

213 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

education,  so  that  he  may  be  fitted  for  anything  that 
may  come  to  him.  We  must  be  very  good,  you  and  I, 
Bertha.  He  must  be  able  to  follow  our  example.  If  I 
had  not.  had  the  right  kind  of  a  father  and  mother  I 
don't  know  what  I  might  have  done. 

"I  am  thinking  for  you  both,  praying  for  you.  You 
have  been  brave  to  bear  all  this  alone.  When  the  war 
is  over  I  shall  try  to  make  up  to  you  for  all  you  have" 
had  to  suffer  while  I  have  been  away. 

"What  shall  we  name  the  boy,  or  have  you  already 
chosen  a  name?  If  not,  why  not  name  him  after  your 
father  and  mine?  'John  Henry  Moore.'  It  looks  well 
and  it  sounds  well.  They  are  both  good  men.  But  in 
this  you  must  have  your  own  way.  Only  give  him  a 
good  boyish  name.  Something  strong.  A  boy  hates  a 
namby-pamby  name,  or  one  that  can  be  foolishly  nick- 
named. ' ' 

There  was  much  more  in  the  letter.  Peter  had  for- 
gotten nothing  that  might  be  of  interest  to  the  young 
mother.  But  no  word  of  the  fierce  battles  now  raging; 
no  hint  of  his  own  danger  crept  into  the  lines  filled  with 
consideration  for  the  mother  of  his  son.  If,  as  he  wrote, 
he  hoped  she  would  name  him  Peter,  he  could  not  be 
blamed.  If  the  thought  came  that  if  he  was  killed,  there 
would  then  still  be  a  Peter  Moore  to  carry  on  the  work 
in  life  that  would  have  been  his,  he  crushed  it  back  as 
selfish.  No,  Bertha  had  the  right  to  choose  the  boy's 
name.  He  would  not  interfere. 

His  letter  to  his  mother  held  all  that  he  could  not,  or 
would  not,  write  to  Bertha.  He  made  all  arrange- 
ments for  his  son  should  he  never  return.  He  would 

214 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

take  out  more  insurance  at  once  to  be  devoted  to  his 
education.  He  would  make  his  father  and  mother 
guardians.  Then  he  planned  the  life  of  his  boy;  seri- 
ously, soberly  as  men  who  face  death  almost  hourly  plan 
for  those  who  may  be  at  any  moment  bereft  of  their 
help  and  their  love. 

With  a  smile  on  her  lips,  but  tears  in  her  eyes,  Peter 's 
mother  read  her  son's  plans  for  the  tiny  babe. 

"He's  nothing  but  a  child  himself,"  she  said,  as  she 
wiped  her  eyes. 

"He  always  will  be  in  certain  ways;  yet  he  is  strong 
and  manly,  hard  as  nails  in  some  things.  Do  you  re- 
member, mother,  how  set  he  was  about  going  to  war? 
How  nothing  we  could  say  would  move  him?  He  will 
be  like  that  in  other  things;  things  he  thinks  right.  I 
wish  Bertha  could  have  felt  she  wanted  to  come  to 
Haynesville  to  live."  Peter's  father  also  wiped  his 
eyes,  and  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  letter  Mrs. 
Moore  had  just  read  aloud  to  him.  He  would  read  it 
again. 

Mrs.  Moore  sighed.  She  longed  for  Peter's  son.  She 
wanted  to  see  him,  to  hold  him  in  her  arms,  to  write 
Peter  just  how  he  looked.  Oh,  she  wanted  him  in  every 
way! 

"We  will  have  to  be  very  economical,  father,  and  in 
the  fall  when  it  is  dull  at  the  factory  we  will  go  and  see 
him — and  Bertha. ' ' 

"The  factory  is  not  going  to  be  dull  this  fall,  mother. 
I  am  rushed  to  death  with  work.  But  we'll  manage  to 
go.  I  want  to  see  Peter's  son,  too." 

From  this  time  on  Peter's  son  was  the  subject  of  o*n- 

215 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

versation  much  of  the  time.  In  Bertha's  home,  too, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hunter  speculated  concerning  him  and 
Bertha,  longed  for  them  to  come  home,  and  prayed  each 
night  that  she  would  come  back  to  them  until  Peter  re- 
turned from  the  war. 

Uncle  Nat  and  Aunt  Martha  were  so  happy  over  the 
baby  boy  that  Bertha's  conscience  often  gave  her  an 
uncomfortable  half  hour  as  she  grew  stronger.  They 
were  so  good  to  her  also.  They  never  bothered  her  with 
advice  now,  but  she  knew  they  expected  her  to  remain 
with  them;  that  she  would  keep  the  baby  they  had 
learned  to  love  there  also.  She  dreaded  the  time  when 
she  would  have  to  tell  them  she  was  going,  and  lazily 
kept  her  bed  for  several  days  after  she  was  able  to  be 
about.  Peter's  letter  had  remained  unanswered,  al- 
though Aunt  Martha  had  written  him  that  Bertha  had 
named  the  baby  Clarence,  after  no  one  in  particular,  but 
because  she  liked  the  name. 

When  Peter  received  Aunt  Martha's  letter  telling  him 
that  Bertha  was  doing  nicely,  that  he  had  a  wonderful 
son  and  that  Bertha  had  named  him  "Clarence  Hunter 
Moore, ' '  he  had  just  come  from  the  shack  where  he  had 
run  into  Madeline  Dawson. 

He  waited  until  he  was  alone  to  read  it.  In  fact,  he 
waited  for  some  time.  As  usual,  when  he  saw  Madeline 
he  was  perturbed,  unsettled.  But  finally  he  opened  and 
read  the  homely  letter  from  the  good-hearted  woman 
who  was  willing  to  do  so  much  for  his  wife  and  child  if 
she  were  allowed. 

"Clarence,"  he  said  aloud;  "Clarence,"  he  repeated. 
"I  wonder  where  she  found  the  name.  I  wish  she  had 

216 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

named  him.  John  or  Henry  instead.  I  suppose  Peter 
would  have  been  too  common,  anyway." 

Suddenly  he  pulled  himself  together  and  finished  the 
letter.  He  was  delighted  that  Aunt  Martha  wanted 
Bertha  and  the  baby  to  remain  with  her.  She  showed 
her  pride  in  and  love  for  the  baby  in  every  line  she 
wrote.  That  Bertha  would  refuse  to  remain  with  Mrs. 
Robinson  never  entered  his  mind.  It  had  been  her  home 
ever  since  she  went  to  New  York,  and  as  her  aunt  and 
uncle  were  pleased  to  have  Her  and  the  baby,  why,  it  was 
only  natural  they  should  stay.  It  someway  made  Peter 
feel  happier  about  them  to  know  that  good,  solid  Uncle 
Nat  and  comfortable,  sensible  Aunt  Martha  were  to  be 
with  them. 

"Bertha  will  write  herself  in  a  few  days.  She  doesn't 
feel  quite  up  to  it,"  her  aunt  said,  feeling  that  some 
such  message  was  necessary,  although  when  she  had 
asked  Bertha  she  had  replied : 

"Oh,  tell  him  what  you  like!  I  am  too  tired  to 
think!" 

Mrs.  Robinson  described  his  son.  "He  will  look  like 
you,  Peter.  His  features  and  coloring  are  yours,  I 
think,  although  it  is  hard  to  tell  in  so  young  a  babe. 
But  there  is  nothing  of  Bertha  in  him  that  any  of  us 
can  see.  You  must  take  care  of  yourself  now.  Don't 
let  them  Germans  get  you.  A  boy  needs  a  father  to 
take  care  of  him,"  etc. 

When  Peter  had  finished  the  letter  for  the  second  time 
he  sat  quietly  dreaming,  a  far-away  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Yes,  a  boy  needs  a  father — unless  he  has  a  mother 
like  mine,"  he  muttered.  Then,  "I  told  her  to  name 

217 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

him  what  she  pleased ;  it  was  her  right.  But  Clarence — 
well,  he  can  be  just  as  good  a  boy  as  if  he  were  named 
John  or  even  Peter,"  he  finished  with  a  wry  smile. 
Then,  after  a  moment,  he  continued  his  soliloquy.  "I 
think  I'll  call  him  'Hunter.'  That  isn't  a  bad  name  for 
a  boy.  Clarence  can  be  his  mother's  name  for  him." 

Peter  did  not  realize  that  even  in  choosing  to  call  his 
boy  by  some  other  name  than  the  one  he  would  be  given 
by  Bertha  he  had  emphasized  the  distance  between  them. 
To  him  it  was  already  so  great  that  nothing  could  bridge 
it.  Yet  he  did  not  mean  to  draw  away  from  her ;  noth- 
ing was  further  from  his  thoughts.  He  really  wanted 
to  feel  differently.  He  would  have  been  happy  could 
he  have  blotted  out  the  knowledge  of  her  character  his 
furlough  had  given  him  and  could  have  felt,  as  he  used, 
that  she  was  keeping  pace  with  him;  that  when  war 
had  given  him  back  to  her  he  would  find  a  congenial, 
loving  spirit  waiting  to  take  up  her  life  by  his  side  and 
make  a  home  for  him  and  his  children.  But  now  he  had 
no  such  illusions.  He  had  come  to  know  Bertha,  and 
her  naked  soul  had  been  exposed  to  him  in  all  its  bar- 
renness. His  life  must  be  what  he  made  it  if  he  was 
spared  to  go  back  again.  He  could  hope  nothing,  ex- 
pect nothing  from  her. 

Whenever  his  thoughts  turned  in  this  direction,  when- 
ever he  thought  of  Bertha  and  how  little  they  ever 
could  have  in  common,  strangely  there  was  always  a 
faint  longing  for  something  different  to  look  forward 
to,  and  that  something  often  took  on  the  form  and  face 
of  Madeline  Dawson. 

That  Peter  did  not  wilfully,  even  willingly,  compare 

218 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

the  two  girls  or  women  made  no  difference  in  the  guilty 
feeling  he  invariably  experienced  after  he  had  allowed 
himself  to  think  in  this  manner.  And  he  would  take 
himself  to  task  and  flagellate  himself  because  his  thoughts 
wandered  in  forbidden  channels — forbidden  by  himself 
because  he,  a  married  man,  not  only  did  wrong  to  allow 
himself  to  think  of  another  than  Bertha,  but  because  it 
was  an  offense,  in  his  eyes,  to  the  woman  whom  he 
honored,  the  ''English  Angel." 

Peter  replied  to  Aunt  Martha's  letter,  and  no  trace 
of  his  disappointment  over  his  boy's  name  appeared  in 
the  closely  written  lines.  He  showed  his  delight  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robinson  were  willing  to  burden  them- 
selves with  a  young  babe  in  their  quiet  home,  and  ex- 
pressed his  thanks  volubly — for  him.  He  cautioned  Mrs. 
Robinson  to  take  good  care  of  Bertha,  and  said  that 
while  he  longed  always  to  hear  from  home,  especially 
now,  he  did  not  want  her  to  exert  herself  to  write  to 
him.  Then  he  added  that  he  hoped  Bertha  would  go 
home  when  the  hot  weather  came  and  stay  in  Haynes- 
ville  for  two  or  three  months.  It  would  be  better  for 
her  and  the  boy  than  heated  New  York.  Yet  as  he  wrote 
Peter  had  a  feeling  that  she  would  not  go,  not  even 
though  it  were  better  for  both  her  and  the  child. 


219 


CHAPTER  XX 

FOR  days  Peter  had  been  in  the  thick  of  things.  The 
weather  seemed  in  "cahoots  with  the  Huns,"  as  one  of 
the  men  expressed  it, ' '  running  a  race  to  see  which  could 
make  them  the  more  uncomfortable. ' '  The  mud  was  up 
to  their  knees  in  the  trenches,  they  even  found  a  liberal 
supply  managed  somehow  to  get  into  their  food. 

"The  girls  who  are  stuck  on  brass  buttons  and  uni- 
forms ought  to  see  us  now,"  one  Yank  grinningly  said. 
"Gutter  snipes  is  what  we  look  like.  Between  the  mud 
and  the  shells  of  the  Hun  we  are  having  the  devil  of  a 
time,  ain't  we?" 

Peter  laughed  with  the  rest  at  his  countryman's 
grumbling.  He  knew  that  with  the  whistle  the  grumbler 
would  be  the  first  over  the  top,  one  of  the  last  to  retreat. 

Many  times  Peter  thought  of  the  terrible  desecration 
of  war.  The  green  fields,  quaint  little  villages  nestling 
among  the  hills,  churches  and  schools,  and — people  as 
he  had  often  seen  them.  Inoffensive  citizens,  women  and 
children  were  there  one  day,  and  the  next  there  was 
nothing  but  ruin. 

The  green  fields  pitted  with  pill  boxes,  torn  up  by 
shells.  The  villages  bombed,  and  in  ruins,  the  churches 
faintly  discernible  perhaps  by  their  towers.  And  the 
people — that  long,  sad-faced  line  of  refugees,  could  they 

220 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

be  the  same  happy  peasants  that  tilled  their  lit- 
tle gardens,  and  went  happily  about  their  day's 
work? 

Yet  with  it  all,  the  desecration,  the  awfulness,  Peter 
never  lost  the  uplift  that  he  had  taken  with  him  when 
first  he  offered  himself  for  the  cause  of  freedom.  He 
felt  always  a  great  gratitude  that  he  had  been  able  to 
take  part  in  it  all.  A  great  solemnity  that  he  had  been 
considered  worthy.  To  him  a  halo  of  glory  seemed  to 
be  the  reward  of  all  who  fought  for  country,  and  for  all 
that  world  freedom  and  democracy  represented,  whether 
they  "went  west,"  or  whether  they  lived  through  the 
hurtling  shells,  the  scathing  fire,  and  the  bayonets  of  the 
Huns  to  return  to  civil  life. 

He  wrote  his  mother  once: 

"If  I  'go  west,'  mother  dear,  remember  that  I  go 
gloriously,  proudly,  because  I  have  been  deemed  worthy 
of  gaining  the  great  adventure  through  fire.  One  sees 
death  on  every  hand,  until  the  king  of  terrors  is  robbed 
of  his  power  to  excite  fear  in  us,  and  we  meet  him  with 
a  smile.  Yet  I  shall  remember  your  caution,  and  not 
court  danger.  Now  less  than  ever  that  I  have  another 
life  dependent  upon  me.  I  cannot  explain  the  emotion 
that  thought  raises,  mother  dear.  I  can  scarcely  com- 
prehend that  I  am  a  father.  Perhaps  had  I  been  with 
Bertha,  had  welcomed  the  little  stranger  on  his  arrival, 
it  might  have  seemed  more  real  to  me.  But  to  think 
I  have  a  son  who  may  be  a  big  boy  running  around  be- 
fore I  see  him  (if  I  ever  do  see  him)  is  almost  incon- 
ceivable. I  feel  so  like  a  little  boy  myself,  your  'little 
son,'  as  you  used  always  to  call  me. 

221 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"We  had  a  stiff  fight  last  night.     Some  of  my  boys 
were  wounded.    All  is  quiet  today.    I  must  close  and  go 
to  them,  then  try  and  get  some  sleep. 
"Your  son, 

"PETER." 

Peter  posted  his  letter  on  the  way  to  the  shack.  He 
was  tired  and  his  legs  lagged.  Madeline  Dawson  was  so 
busy  with  her  "babies"  that  he  only  caught  fleeting 
glances  of  her  as  he  searched  out  his  men  who  had  been 
carried  to  her  shack  after  the  engagement.  Suddenly 
she  stood  beside  him. 

"Please  come  with  me  a  minute,"  she  said  quietly. 
"One  of  your  countrymen  is  badly  hurt,  an  aviator. 
They  brought  him  in  here,  as  he  is  too  badly  injured  to 
stand  being  carried  to  the  hospital." 

Peter  followed  quietly.    He  had  not  spoken. 

Madeline  stopped  before  a  cot  on  which  lay  a  slight 
young  man  with  delicately  refined  features.  His  broken 
body  was  bandaged  and  incased  in  splints,  but  his  face 
was  uninjured.  He  was  raving,  and  she  stooped  over 
and  laid  her  hand  on  his  low  forehead. 

"Poor  boy!"  she  murmured.    "Do  you  know  him?" 

"No,  never  saw  him  before,  but  he's  a  Yank,  all  right. 
Pretty  serious,  isn't  it?" 

"Very — scarcely  any  chance  for  him,  the  doctor  said. 
His  mechanician  was  killed.  He  fell  last  night,  just  in- 
side the  lines,  fortunately.  They  brought  him  here, 
fixed  him  up  and  he  has  been  like  that  ever  since.  He 
calls  for  a  girl,  talks  about  getting  married,  and  tells 
her  how  pretty  she  is,  her  name — excuse  me,  1 11  have  to 
go."  And  without  mentioning  the  name  the  delirious 

222 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

American  had  called  she  flitted  away.  Peter  stood  a 
moment  by  the  bed,  then  he  also  left  the  unknown  avia- 
tor to  sit  with  one  of  the  men  of  his'  company  who  had 
had  his  arm  blown  off  by  a  shell. 

But  after  Peter  left  the  shack  the  face  of  the  young 
aviator,  his  wild  eyes  and  incoherent  speech  came  back 
to  him.  He  wondered  who  he  was,  and  wished  there  was 
something  he  might  do  for  him. 

At  this  time,  in  spite  of  his  entanglements,  Peter  made 
no  effort  to  evade  life,  but  instead  he  called  it  to  play 
upon  his  soul  at  all  angles.  He  took  it  in  his  hands  with 
large  courage  and  flung  it  back  with  all  his  might.  At 
times  he  was  folded  in  a  personal  peace,  totally  distinct 
from  his  surroundings,  and  it  was  in  a  manner  this  per- 
sonal peace  in  an  age  of  unrest  that  individualized  as 
well  as  in  a  manner  isolated  him. 

And  yet  Peter  never  in  his  life  had  been  so  approach- 
able. His  face,  stern  at  times,  was  often  lighted  up  by 
mirth  as  he  laughed  and  joked  with  his  men,  or  was 
softened  by  a  wistful  compassion  in  his  deep-set  eyes.  It 
seemed  only  a  few  months  ago  that  he  was  merely  one 
among  many  small  town  boys  who  rose  with  the  sun, 
did  their  allotted  trivial  tasks,  and  went  to  rest  when 
darkness  came.  Now  he  was  a  man,  an  individual  who, 
fighting  for  his  country,  would  have  to  render  an  ac- 
count to  that  country  if  he  failed  in  any  slightest  par- 
ticular to  do  his  duty.  To  accomplish  his  share  in  what 
must  be  done. 

At  times,  especially  when  he  thought  of  Bertha,  an 
astonishing  sense  of  loneliness  came  over  him,  a  feeling 
that  because  she  was  as  she  was  he  would  never  know 

223 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

the  delights  of  a  home  and  companionship  as  did  and 
would  other  men.  During  long  intervals  he  would  ban- 
ish all  such  thoughts  and  concentrate  upon  his  duties, 
but  never  did  he  see  Madeline  Dawson  that  they  did  not 
recur  to  him.  Never  did  he  watch  her  bending  tenderly 
over  her  "babies"  that  the  remembrance  of  Bertha's  in- 
difference when  he  went  home  to  her  wounded  did  not 
come  back  to  him  in  all  its  bitterness.  Her  carelessness 
of  him,  her  lack  of  sympathy,  her  evident  reluctance  to 
be  with  him,  contrasted  painfully  with  the  tender 
womanliness  of  the  "English  Angel"  of  the  shack  back 
of  the  lines. 

But  Peter  firmly  refused  to  allow  his  mind  often  to 
dwell  upon  Bertha,  or  to  contrast  her  with  Madeline. 
Love  and  tender  dreams  were  pushed  into  the  back- 
ground of  his  mind  by  the  exigencies  of  his  life,  his 
devotion  to  duty  now  grown  more  arduous.  Daily  he 
moved  among  men  who  had  everything  to  live  for,  lov- 
ing wives,  home  and  children.  Yet  they  like  himself 
were  urged  by  a  chivalrous  spirit  of  heroism  to  give 
their  lives  cheerfully  for  the  cause  to  which  they  had 
pledged  themselves,  regardless  of  these  claims  upon 
them. 

The  rebirth  of  the  men  about  him  was  to  Peter  a  cause 
of  constant  wonder  and  delight.  The  lazy,  the  unedu- 
cated, the  common,  were  insensibly  going  through  a 
process  which  eliminated  all  the  dross  from  their  na- 
tures, which  gave  them  a  spiritual  outlook  inconceiv- 
able to  them  in  the  past.  It  was  a  slow,  steady,  refining 
by  the  fire  of  battle,  added  to  by  the  companionship  of 
those  men  who,  like  Peter,  diffused  an  atmosphere  of 

224 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

patriotism  combined  with  a  desire  for  their  own  men- 
tal improvement  and  advancement. 

In  fact,  the  great  melting  pot  had  absorbed  them. 

The  women  with  whom  Peter  came  in  contact,  although 
few  in  number,  were  women  of  high  ideals  and  daunt- 
less courage.  Women  of  the  same  fiber  as  was  his 
mother.  They  went  about  their  duties  cheerfully, 
whether  nursing  wounded  soldiers,  serving  at  the  can- 
teens behind  the  lines  where  falling  shells  made  their 
positions  dangerous,  driving  a  Red  Cross  ambulance,  or 
assisting  old  men,  women  and  children  as  they  evacuated 
the  towns  the  Hun  made  unsafe  for  them  to  live  in. 

Peter  in  his  times  of  respite  when  back  in  the  trenches 
thought  often  of  the  delicate-featured  American  boy — 
he  was  little  more — who,  Madeline  had  told  him,  had 
scant  chance  to  live. 

"Lucky  he  fell  inside  our  own  lines,"  he  said  to  a 
comrade  as  he  told  of  the  young  aviator.  "I  hate  to 
see  the  damned  Huns  put  their  hands  on  one  of  our 
fliers." 

"Was  he  a  friend  of  yours?" 

"No.  Never  saw  him  before.  He  was  delirious.  I 
believe  I'll  go  over  and  see  if  he  is  still  alive  when  I 
get  a  chance.  Some  way  I  can't  get  him  out  of  my 
mind.  The  nurse" — Peter  flushed  as  he  always  did 
when  he  referred  to  Madeline  Dawson — "said  he  con- 
stantly talked  of  some  girl,  urging  her  to  marry  him. 
Perhaps  if  he  dies  it  will  be  better  for  her  that  she  did 
not.  He  was  a  nice-looking  chap" — reminiscently — 
"rather  delicate-looking,  but  he  must  have  been  brave 
or  he  couldn't  have  been  a  flier.  He  looked  like  an 

225 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

aristocratic  sort,  too.  His  hands  were  soft  and  well 
cared  for  as  a  woman's.  He  was  terribly  broken  up 
though,  scarcely  a  bone  in  his  body  left  whole.  His 
mechanician  was  killed,  poor  fellow." 

"Them  fliers  take  an  awful  chance,"  the  other  mused. 
"I'd  rather  face  the  Huns  with  my  feet  on  the  ground." 

"I  don't  know  as  it  makes  much  difference  what  we 
do  or  where  we  do  it  if  it  is  only  our  best  to  help," 
Peter  returned  slowly.  "You  see  we  are  needed  here, 
he  was  needed  up  there,"  pointing  upward.  "The 
nurse  said  he  had  brought  down  three  German  planes 
before  they  got  him." 

"Bully  for  the  Yank!  I'd  be  contented  to  'go  west,' 
too,  if  I  could  give  such  an  account  of  myself  to  Saint 
Peter  when  he  let  me  in." 


226 


CHAPTER  XXI 

BERTHA  was  up  and  about  once  more.  She  had  not 
yet  told  her  aunt  of  her  plans,  although  she  and  Julia 
had  been  on  several  shopping  excursions  together,  and 
much  of  what  she  intended  to  purchase  had  already  been 
delivered  at  the  little  flat.  She  had,  however,  written 
Peter  a  short  note.  She  made  no  apologies,  she  asked 
no  advice. 

"I  have  taken  a  small  apartment — only  four  rooms — 
and  shall  live  there  instead  of  with  Aunt  Martha.  Clar- 
ence is  well.  They  say  he  looks  like  you.  I  have  a  good 
girl  engaged  to  take  care  of  him  and  shall  go  back  to  the 
shop  in  another  week  or  two.  They  raised  me  rather 
than  have  me  leave,  and  as  I  don't  know  anything  about 
babies,  and  do  know  about  hats,  I  decided  to  get  some 
one  to  keep  house  and  take  care  of  Clarence  and  keep 
right  on  earning  money  to  pay  for  it.  Of  course,  1 
couldn't  live  in  New  York  on  what  you  send  me." 

There  was  a  little  more,  but  all  in  the  same  vein.  Ber- 
tha flattered  herself  it  was  a  clever  letter. 

"He'll  see  there's  no  use  making  a  howl  after  it  is 
done,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Just  as  sure  as  I  had 
asked  him  he  would  have  tried  to  keep  me  here." 

Aunt  Martha  and  Uncle  Nat  were  devoted  to  Ber- 
tha's baby.  In  fact,  it  was  their  devotion  which  gave 

227 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

her  the  time  to  get  out  and  buy  the  furniture  for  her 
flat.  Her  aunt  thought  she  was  with  her  young  friends, 
and  as  it  was  always  in  the  daytime  she  never  com- 
plained. She  really  was  pleased,  as  she  then  could  have 
little  Clarence  all  to  herself,  and  pet  and  fuss  over  him 
to  her  heart's  content. 

''Oh,  Nat,"  she  said  one  night,  "whatever  would  we 
do  if  Bertha  should  take  him  away?" 

"She  ain't  going  to  take  him,  Martha,  so  don't  fret. 
She  won't  go  back  to  Haynesville,  you  know,  so  where 
else  could  she  take  him?" 

"I  am  growing  to  love  him  so  it  would  be  like  losing 
a  baby  of  my  own  to  have  him  go.  You  see,  Nat,  Ber- 
tha leaves  him  with  me  every  day  now  that  she  is  able 
to  get  out.  We  have  such  nice  times  together, 
don't  we,  baby?"  she  asked  of  the  cooing  babe  in  her 
arms. 

"There,  Martha,  don't  cross  any  bridges  till  you  come 
to  them,"  her  husband  answered,  kindly,  yet  what  she 
had  said,  her  expressed  fear  of  losing  the  little  one,  had 
impressed  him.  He  should  sorrow  only  in  a  lesser  degree 
if  Bertha  took  the  boy  away  from  them.  But  he  wouldn  't 
let  Martha  see  she  had  worried  him.  The  mother  spirit 
in  her  was  being  satisfied  by  caring  for  Bertha's  baby. 
He  would  do  all  he  could  to  keep  them ;  to  make  Bertha 
happy  and  contented. 

Hardly  had  he  reached  this  decision  when  Bertha 
came  in.  She  had  been  away  nearly  all  day.  The  flat 
was  all  ready,  the  woman  she  had  engaged  in  charge. 
She  intended  to  move  the  baby  and  herself  on  the  mor- 
row, then  the  next  day  she  would  go  back  to  the  shop. 

228 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

' '  Dinner 's  most  ready,  Bertha.  Here,  you  take  this  big 
boy  while  I  dish  it  up. " 

Bertha  took  her  baby  from  Mrs.  Robinson,  but  im- 
mediately laid  him  on  the  couch. 

"I  have  some  things  to  do  upstairs.  I'll  be  down  in 
a  few  minutes,"  she  said  in  rather  an  embarrassed  man- 
ner. It  wasn  't  going  to  be  easy  to  tell  her  aunt  and  uncle 
of  her  plans. 

"I  wonder  what  she's  doing,"  Mrs.  Kobinson  said, 
as  she  hustled  about  her  work.  "She  acted  strange. 
Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Nonsense,  mother!  Didn't  I  tell  you  to  stop  fret- 
ting?" Yet  even  as  he  spoke  Uncle  Nat  picked  up  the 
baby  and  held  him  close,  as  if  his  wife 's  speech  had  made 
him  also  uneasy. 

Bertha  was  very  quiet  all  through  dinner.  When  they 
were  nearly  finished  she  said : 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  shop,  Aunt  Martha,  and 
now " 

"Oh,  Bertha!"  her  uncle  interrupted.  "You  don't 
have  to,  you  know.  With  what  Peter  sends  you  you 
can  do  very  nicely  here  with  us. 

"And,  Bertha,  you  ain't  no  need  to  pay  board  now. 
My  work  is  steady,  and  since  we  went  into  the  war  a 
skilled  mechanic  gets  good  wages.  I  never  earned  so 
much  before,  so  we  won't  feel  your  board  a  bit.  Maybe 
by  and  by,  when  this  little  scamp  gets  to  eating  hearty, 
we'll  charge  for  him,"  affecting  a  pleasantry  he  did  not 
feel. 

"I  am  going  back."  Bertha's  tone  was  decided.  "I 
haven't  told  you,  but  they  paid  me  all  the  time  I  was 

229 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

sick  and  have  raised  me  $5  a  week  besides.    You  see,  I 
can  sell  more  hats  than  any  one  in  the  shop." 

"Of  course,  you  must  do  as  you  like,  but  I  had  hoped 
you  would  be  happy  with  us  and  the  baby." 

"I  haven't  told  you  what  else  I  am  going  to  do.  You 
all  made  such  a  fuss  over  my  shop  work;  you  didn't  give 
me  a  chance.  I  am  going  to  move.  I  shall  go  tomor- 
row. I  have  a  flat  and  shall  keep  house.  I  have  found 
a  nice  woman  to  do  the  work  and  take  care  of  Clarence. 
I  engaged  the  expressman  to  come  early  in  the  morning 
for  my  trunk.  I  '11  have  to  hurry  and  get  all  packed  up 
tonight.  When  you  are  ready  to  have  me  wipe  the  dishes 
call  me,"  and  without  a  look  at  either  her  aunt  or  her 
uncle,  neither  of  whom  had  spoken,  Bertha  hurried  up- 
stairs. 

"Thank  goodness,  that's  over.  It  wasn't  as  hard  as 
I  thought  it  was  going  to  be, ' '  she  said  when  she  gained 
her  room. 

Left  alone,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robinson  stared  at  each  other 
across  the  table.  Then  her  head  went  down  on  her  arms 
and  hard,  dry  sobs  shook  her  as  she  thought  of  her  lone- 
liness after  the  baby  would  be  gone. 

' '  Don 't,  Martha !  Please  don 't, ' '  Mr.  Eobinson  begged. 
He  never  had  seen  his  placid,  common-sense  wife  so 
moved.  "Perhaps  she  will  change  her  mind.  I'll  go 
up  and  talk  to  her. ' '  He  started  for  the  stairs. 

"No,  Nat,"  she  raised  her  head  and  looked  a  him  with 
sad,  tearless  eyes.  "No,  it  won't  do  any  good.  She 
has  it  all  done  now.  That's  what  she  has  been  doing 
these  days  when  she  was  out  all  day — furnishing  that 
place.  And  you  heard  her  say  she  had  got  a  woman  to 

230 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

take  care — of  him,"  her  voice  trembled.  "Some  hired 
person  who  won't  love  him,  maybe  won't  be  good  to  him. 
I  can't  bear  it,  Nat!  I  just  can't!"  and  for  the  first 
time  in  years  Martha  Robinson  wept  hot,  scalding  tears 
as  she  took  up  the  sleeping  baby  and  held  him  close  to 
her  motherly  breast.  "I  have  so  wanted  a  baby  of  my 
own,  Nat,  and  he  seemed  almost  as  if  he  belonged  to  me. 
Bertha  didn't  seem  to  care  very  much,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  know,  and  it's  a  damn  shame!"  Martha 
Robinson  heard  an  oath  on  her  husband's  lips  for  the 
first  time. 

"Oh,  I  can't  let  him  go!"  she  wailed,  just  as  Bertha 
called : 

"Ready,  Aunt  Martha?" 

"No,  not  yet.  I'll  call  you.  Uncle  Nat  and  I  have 
been  talking,"  she  answered,  her  voice  unsteady. 

The  two  sat  in  silence  for  a  few  moments  longer. 
Then  Martha  quietly  deposited  her  precious  burden  in 
her  husband's  arms  and  commenced  to  clear  away.  Her 
face  was  pale  and  she  moved  slowly,  otherwise  she  was 
as  usual.  The  work  must  be  done,  it  was  her  work, 
and  even  her  sorrow  was  no  excuse  for  an  untidy  or 
uncomfortable  home  for  Nat. 

By  and  by  she  called: 

"All  ready  now,  Bertha." 

They  worked  side  by  side  for  a  while  without  speak- 
ing. Then  Aunt  Martha  said: 

"You  are  determined  to  go,  Bertha?" 

' '  Yes,  Aunt  Martha.  I  need  a  home  of  my  own  now. ' ' 
She  quoted  Julia. 


231 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"But  I  would  gladly  take  care  of  the  baby  if  you 
really  want  to  go  back  to  the  shop." 

"I  know,"  impatiently,  "but  that  isn't  the  idea  at 
all.  I  am  a  married  woman,  old  enough  to  have  a 
baby,  and  I  guess  I  am  old  enough  to  have  my  own 
home  and  do  as  I  please.  I  have  friends  I  want  to 
entertain,  and" — she  caught  herself.  She  had  not  in- 
tended to  let  her  aunt  see  that  one  reason  she  left  was 
because  she  would  have  more  freedom;  that  it  really 
was  the  reason. 

"If  that  was  all  you  can  have  your  friends  come  here 
all  you  want  to.  And  you  heard  what  your  uncle  said. 
It  won't  cost  you  a  penny." 

"It's  too  late  to  talk  of  that  now.  I  intend  to  do  as 
I  please.  And  I  please  to  be  independent  and  have  a 
home  of  my  own.  I  guess  you  wanted  one  when  you 
were  married,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  Bertha,  I  did.  But  it  was  different.  Nat  and 
me  never  was  separated  for  a  day.  I  had  to  have  a 
home  for  him.  But  Peter  is  way  off  in  Europe,  and  you 
are  going  to  be  busy  all  day.  I  wish  you  would  make 
up  your  mind  to  stay.  I'll  take  better  care  of  the  baby 
than  a  stranger  would."  Her  voice  broke  as  she  men- 
tioned the  baby. 

"I  told  you  it  was  too  late."  Bertha's  conscience 
troubled  her  a  little,  and  so  she  was  even  more  impa- 
tient than  before.  "You  can  go  and  see  him  during  the 
day  whenever  you  want  to." 

Mrs.  Robinson  made  no  reply.  She  had  noted  Bertha 's 
invitation  was  only  for  "during  the  day,"  and  a  swift 

232 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

prescience  of  her  niece's  reason  for  leaving  her  flashed 
over  her  mind. 

' '  Poor  Peter, ' '  she  said  to  herself  as  Bertha  went  into 
another  room,  unconsciously  using  Peter's  mother's 
phrase,  "Poor  fellow.  It  would  be  just  as  well  perhaps 
if  he  didn't  come  back."  Then  as  Bertha  returned  she 
asked : 

"Have  you  told  Peter?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  you  heard  since?" 

"No."  Then  hotly:  "It  ain't  any  of  his  business, 
anyway.  If  he  wants  to  have  anything  to  say  about 
what  I  do  let  him  stay  where  I  am ! ' ' 

"But  he  can't.  He's  fighting  so  we  will  be  able  to 
live  safely,  like  we  always  have.  He'd  been  drafted  by 
this  time  if  he  Ladn't  enlisted  with  the  Canadians,  so 
he'd  been  away  just  the  same."  Mrs.  Robinson  always 
had  entertained  the  idea  that  Bertha  resented  Peter's 
leaving  her  so  soon  after  they  were  married. 

"Let  him  fight!  I  don't  interfere  with  him.  And  I 
shan't  let  him  interfere  with  me." 

"You  don't  mean  that  you  would  do  anything  Peter 
didn't  want  you  to  do?"  Her  aunt  was  horrified. 

"I  mean  that  I  shall  do  as  I  want  to;  that's  all." 

"And  you  are  determined  to  go  and  take  the  baby?" 

"Yes,  and  do  stop  talking  about  it.  I  am  tired  to 
death." 

Stunned,  incapable  of  objecting  further,  Mrs.  Robin- 
son hid  her  grief  as  best  she  was  able.  It  was  like  part- 
ing with  a  bit  of  her  own  heart,  she  said  afterward. 
That  night  she  held  little  Clarence  long  after  he 

233 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

had  gone  to  sleep  while  Bertha  finished  her  packing. 
Then  after  all  in  the  house  slept  she  washed  out  the  tiny 
flannel  garments,  so  that  everything  might  be  sweet  and 
clean  to  take  away. 

"No  hired  woman  will  keep  them  soft  for  him,"  she 
murmured,  pressing  a  tiny  shirt  to  her  cheek.  ' '  It  takes 
such  careful  washing." 

The  gray  dawn  was  just  peeping  into  the  windows 
when  she  finally  lay  down.  An  hour  later  she  was 
stirring  again.  Nat  must  not  be  neglected;  he  must 
have  his  breakfast  on  time.  She  could  indulge  her  grief 
when  she  was  alone  in  the  house — she  would  be  alone 
all  day  long  when  the  baby  was  gone. 

Bertha  also  was  up  betimes,  anxious  now  that  she 
had  told  her  aunt  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible. 

"No  use  prolonging  the  agony,"  she  muttered  as  she 
dressed.  She  had  realized  the  night  before  that  her 
aunt  was  terribly  hurt,  although  she  had  no  conception 
of  Mrs.  Robinson's  real  feeling. 

She  bade  her  uncle  good-bye  after  breakfast. 

"I  hope  you  won't  regret  leaving  us,  Bertha,"  he 
said  kindly,  his  wife 's  pale  face  making  him  very  gentle. 
"If  you  do  and  want  to  come  back  you  can." 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Nat,  but  I  want  a  home  of  my 
own." 

After  he  left  she  offered  to  help  with  the  breakfast 
things,  but  was  immeasurably  relieved  when  her  aunt 
told  her  to  go  and  look  after  her  own  affairs.  A  tete-a- 
tete  was  the  last  thing  she  desired.  Finally  the  time 
came  to  dress  little  Clarence  for  his  short  journey  to  his 
new  home.  Mrs.  Robinson  asked  very  meekly: 

234 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"May  I  dress  him,  Bertha?  You'll  have  lots  of  time 
to  do  it  after  you  go. ' ' 

"Certainly;  go  ahead,"  Bertha  said  carelessly,  hiding 
her  feeling  of  guilt  under  a  flippant  manner. 

"If  she  nursed  the  baby  it  would  be  different,"  Aunt 
Martha  had  said  to  her  husband,  "but  I  could  take  care 
of  him  just  as  well  and  better  than  anyone  she  can  hire. ' ' 
That  thought  was  in  her  mind  as  she  fixed  his  bottle 
and  dressed  him,  prolonging  her  task  as  much  as  pos- 
sible. 

Finally  there  was  nothing  more  to  do.  Bertha  was 
ready  and  waiting;  the  taxi  was  honk-honking  outside. 
So  with  one  last  kiss,  one  more  caution  to  be  sure  the 
woman  with  whom  she  trusted  her  baby  was  good  to 
him,  Aunt  Martha  laid  the  precious  bundle  in  his  moth- 
er's arms  and  let  them  go. 

*  *  One  would  think  I  was  going  to  abuse  him, ' '  Bertha 
muttered.  "I  love  him,  too — even  if  I  didn't  want 
him,"  and  she  did  in  a  way.  But  it  was  in  her  own 
selfish  way,  and.  so  long  as  he  did  not  interfere  with  her 
plans  or  her  pleasures.  That,  she  had  no  intention  of 
allowing  him  to  do  any  more  than  she  had  her  aunt  and 
uncle. 

While  Bertha  and  her  son  were  moving  away  from 
her  aunt's  and  so  breaking  the  last  link  that  bound 
her  to  her  own  people,  Peter  was  wending  his  way  to 
the  shack.  Madeline  Dawson  had  sent  for  him. 

"That  American  aviator  is  dying.  I  wish  you  would 
come  over.  It  wouldn't  seem  quite  so  sad  if  one  of  his 
own  people  were  with  him." 

He  walked  slowly,  no  elasticity  in  his  step.  He  had 

235 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

only  just  finished  Bertha's  note  telling  him  she  was 
going  to  leave  her  aunt,  when  Madeline's  message 
came.  He  would  read  it  over  again  when  he  returned. 
But  the  silent  fact  remained  with  him.  His  little 
son  was  to  be  left  to  the  tender  mercies  of  a  hireling 
because  she — Bertha — could  not  be  contented  to  live 
on  what  he  provided.  That  was  the  reason  he  gave, 
the  only  one  that  occurred  to  him. 

"I  am  glad  you  came,"  Madeline  said.  "It  won't 
be  long.  He  is  rational  now." 

Peter  forgot  his  own  troubles  the  moment  he  saw 
the  dying  aviator.  He  seated  himself  close  to  him  and 
gently  asked  if  there  was  anything  he  could  do  for  him. 

"We're  both  Americans,  you  know,"  he  added,  with 
his  engaging  smile. 

"Yes,  lieutenant,  there  is  something  you  can  do.  I 
never  amounted  to  much — had  too  much  money,  I  guess. 
But  there's  a  girl  back  there  in  the  States,  a  girl  I  love 
and  was  going  to  marry.  She's  a  good  girl,  or  perhaps 
I  wouldn't  have  wanted  to  marry  her.  I  was  pretty 
wild  and  the  kind  of  girls  I  trained  with  could  most  of 
them  be  had  for  the  asking.  But  Bertha  was  different 
and  we  were  to  be  married.  Then  the  war  came  and 
I  had  to  enlist.  I  had  played  with  aviation  like  I  played 
with  other  things  for  my  own  amusement.  I  have  made 
a  will — the  nurse,  the  English  angel — helped  me.  It  is 
witnessed  and  all  right.  I  want  Bertha  to  have  every- 
thing. 

"Bertha — Bertha  who?"  It  was  not  of  his  own  voli- 
tion that  Peter  spoke.  The  words  seemed  to  be  forced 
from  him. 

236 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Bertha  Moore.  The  sweetest,  dearest  little  girl  in 
New  York,  even  if  she  does  work  in  a  hat  shop." 

Peter  stared  in  such  a  way  that  the  sick  man  moved 
uneasily  on  his  pillow,  at  a  loss  to  understand. 

"Her  name  is  Bertha,  Bertha  Moore,"  he  repeated/ 
"and  she  is  the  sweetest  little  girl  in  all  New  York,  if 
she  does  work  in  a  hat  shop.  You  know  I  begged  her  to 
leave  and  let  me  take  care  of  her,  but  no,  she  would 
only  do  that  after  we  were  married — good  girl — Bertha. " 
The  pain  halted  his  speech. 

"She  was  going  to  marry  you?"  Peter's  voice 
sounded  faint,  far  away. 

"Why,  yes.  You  see,  Yank,  we  had  an  accident — 
automobile — knocked  a  vegetable  cart — made  a  hash  out 
of  his  stuff — thought  Bertha  was  killed — found  I  loved 
her — more'n  I  thought — I  did.  More  than  any  other — 
girl.  She  promised  to  marry  me,"  more  firmly  as  the 
pain  again  subsided,  "then  her  mother  was — taken  sick. 
When  she  came  back — to  New  York  we  came  into  this 
war.  I  had  been  an  aviator  for  fun  for  a — long  time. 
So  I  came  over.  We  were  to  be  married  as  soon  as  I 
went  back.  But  it's  no  use  thinking  of  that  now — the 
doctor  told  the  nurse — I  heard  him — that  it  was  all  up 
with  me.  So  I'll 'go  west,' instead  of  going  home."  He 
had  been  fumbling  with  something  while  he  talked.  Now 
he  motioned  Peter  to  take  it. 

"It's  her  picture,  Yank.  Will  you  have  it  buried 
with  me?  Here's  her  letters.  I  want  to  keep  them  as 
long  as  I  live.  Then  you  destroy  them.  You've  got  a 
good  face,  lieutenant;  one  a  man  can  trust.  You'll  see 
the  will  is  properly  attended  to,  won't  you  I "  He  waited 

237 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

a  minute,  then  asked  again,  "Won't  you?    My  name, 
lieutenant,  is  Bates  Freeman." 

Peter's  eyes  never  for  a  moment  had  left  the  picture 
he  held  in  his  hand.  A  picture  of  Bertha,  his  wife. 
Yet  the  woman  who  had  promised  herself  to  that  broken 
aviator,  who  believed  in  her  truth  and  goodness.  The 
man  who,  whatever  his  faults,  had  given  his  life  for  his 
country. 

The  picture,  taken  only  a  short  time  before  Bates 
Freeman  had  left  New  York,  was  indeed  a  true  likeness 
of  Bertha,  but  Bertha  in  her  happiest  mood.  Exquisitely 
dressed,  a  smile  on  her  pretty  face,  she  now  gazed  up 
from  the  silver  frame  at  Peter  as  if  she  were  mocking 
him. 

Peter  looked  from  her  to  the  man  on  the  narrow  cot 
and  wondered.  He  had  no  way  of  knowing  that  the 
experiences  of  the  last  few  weeks  and  months  had  re- 
fined all  the  dross  from  the  young  millionaire's  nature. 
That  he  was;  gazing  at  a  very  different  man  than  the 
one  who  had  left  New  York  and — Bertha.  There  was 
high  resolve,  manliness  in  every  line  of  the  pale,  aristo- 
cratic face.  All  traces  of  self-indulgence  had  disap- 
peared. Only  the  brave  look  of  the  man  who  has  done 
his  duty  remained.  How  could  such  a  man  as  this  be 
captivated  by  Bertha? 

"You  see,  I  have  no  one  but  her,"  Bates  went  on  after 
a  while.  "And  it  would  be  a  shame  to  have  it  go  to 
strangers.  She  loves  pretty  things;  she  is  pretty  her- 
self. I'll  die  easy,  lieutenant,  if  you'll  promise  to  see 
that  she  is  taken  care  of — you  look  good,"  he  said, 
simply,  "and  I  must  trust  somebody." 

238 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Torn  with  conflicting  emotions,  his  soul  sick  within 
him,  Peter  solemnly  promised  to  do  as  the  sick  man 
requested.  He  tried  to  put  the  fact  that  this  same 
Bertha  who  had  promised  to  marry  this  Bates  Freeman 
was  his  wife,  from  his  mind.  He  had  no  right 
to  send  the  brave  soul  of  the  aviator  on  its  long  journey 
sorrowing  because  of  selfishness  on  his  part.  He  did  not 
need  to  be  told  that  the  wreck  of  a  man  lying  before  him 
had  been  entirely  innocent  that  he  even  existed  or  that 
Bertha  was  already  married,  and  so  had  no  right  to 
promise  herself  to  him.  He  had  sensed  that  when  Bates 
Freeman  first  began  to  talk. 

But,  as  always,  it  was  the  thing  which  had  to  be  done ; 
the  thing  which  must  be  accomplished  that  steadied 
Peter. 

"I'll  do  the  best  I  can,  Freeman,"  he  said,  quietly, 
his  own  face  almost  as  gray  as  that  of  the  dying  aviator. 

' '  I — trust — you, ' '  Bates  Freeman  whispered,  worn  out 
with  his  attempt  to  explain  his  wishes.  "The  picture 
— don't  forget  to — bury  it  with  me." 

Just  then  Madeline  Dawson  came  to  the  cot. 

"Come  away.  He  is  quiet  now.  The  doctor  says  he 
may  pass  away  at  any  time,  or  he  may  live  a  day  or  two. 
Did  he  tell  you  what  he  wanted  of  you  ?  Was  he  able  to 
make  you  understand?"  she  asked. 

' '  Yes,  I  understand,  and  I  promised, ' '  Peter  answered, 
looking  at  Madeline  as  if  he  never  had  seen  her  before. 

"You — you  aren't  ill  yourself,  are  you,  Lieutenant 
Moore  ?  You  are  dreadfully  white. ' '  It  scarcely  seemed 
possible  that  a  man  famed  for  being  in  the  thickest  of 
the  fight,  exposing  himself  to  all  sorts  of  danger,  would 

239 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

quail  because  of  anything  the  dying  aviator  could  have 
told  him.  Madeline  was  sure  they  never  had  met; 
both  had  so  assured  her.  Yet  Peter  was  ghastly  white 
and  almost  staggered  as  he  left  the  shack. 

"No,  I  am  not  ill,"  he  told  Madeline.  She  had 
noticed  that  he  moistened  his  lips  as  he  spoke  and  that 
he  did  not  seem  aware  of  her  presence,  although  he 
answered  her  question. 


240 


CHAPTER  XXII 

His  men  wondered  that  night  what  had  come  over 
Lieutenant  Moore.  He  not  only  did  not  talk  and  laugh 
with  them  as  usual,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  when 
spoken  to. 

"Must  have  had  bad  news  from  home,  poor  fellow," 
one  man  said.  "Nothing  else  could  make  him  like  that. 
It  isn't  a  grouch;  he  acts  dazed,  almost  as  if  he  didn't 
know  what  he  was  doing. ' ' 

"The  kindest  thing  we  can  do  is  to  keep  away,"  an- 
other soldier  who  had  spoken  to  Peter  without  exciting 
his  attention  remarked.  "It  may  be  his  mother  or — 
someone  told  me  he  was  married "  he  left  the  sen- 
tence unfinished. 

All  night  Peter  sat,  his  head  on  his  hands,  his  elbows 
on  the  table.  He  might  have  been  carved  out  of  stone 
so  rigid  was  he.  It  was  not  the  fact  that  he  loved 
Bertha,  or  that  she  had  promised  to  marry  another  man 
while  still  his  wife,  that  had  shocked  him  so  terribly; 
it  was  that  the  mother  of  his  son  should  do  such  a 
thing. 

"Thank  God!  oh,  thank  God!"  he  whispered  as 
toward  morning  he  recalled  dimly  that  Bates  had  de- 
clared more  than  once  that  Bertha  was  "good."  That 
she  wouldn't  allow  him  to  care  for  her  until  they  were 

241 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

married.  "She — my  boy."  Then  he  broke  down,  and 
long,  anguished  sobs  shook  him  for  a  few  moments. 

Could  Peter  have  known  that  Bertha  was  really  able 
to  leave  her  aunt,  to  go  by  herself  because  of  the  safe 
feeling  Bates'  generosity  had  given  her  he  might  not 
so  unequivocally  have  accepted  Bates'  version  of ' '  good. ' ' 
Fortunately  for  his  peace  of  mind  he  could  not  know. 

He  had  a  letter  that  day  from  Bertha.  Curiously  he 
felt  less  desire  than  usual  to  know  what  she  had  written ; 
was  more  deliberate  in  opening  it.  It  was  the  short 
note  Bertha  had  written  telling  him  she  was  going  back 
to  the  shop  and  that  she  had  taken  a  flat. 

He  thought  at  first  it  was  because  he  felt  so  numb 
that  he  didn't  grasp  what  Bertha  had  written.  But, 
holding  his  thoughts  firmly  in  leash,  he  reread  the  note. 

"Going  back  to  work  and  going  to  leave  him  with  a 
hired  woman."  He  wondered  dimly  as  he  talked  to 
himself  why  she  did  not  stay  at  her  aunt's.  There  was 
no  explanation  he  could  think  of — until  there  flashed 
across  his  mind — Bates  Freeman. 

That  was  it !  She  was  leaving  her  own  people,  delib- 
erately cutting  herself  off  from  their  sympathy  and 
help  so  that  when  Freeman  came  back  she  could  marry 
him  and — his  millions.  Strangely,  when  Peter's  lips 
moved  he  breathed  "poor  fellow,"  meaning  Freeman, 
and  using  the  same  words  his  mother  always  used  when 
speaking  of  him  in  connection  with  Bertha. 

Peter  had  grown  wonderfully,  yet  in  the  ways  of 
women,  especially  of  one  like  Bertha,  he  was  woefully 
ignorant.  She  couldn't  divorce  him,  he  had  done  noth- 
ing. That  she  was  waiting  for  him  to  die  so  that  she 

242 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

could  marry  Bates  Freeman  seemed  too  horrible.  If 
she  were  it  was  the  very  irony  of  fate,  that  it  should 
be  the  young  millionaire  who  should  be  taken  and  he, 
Peter  Moore,  the  factory  man's  son,  left. 

Once  more  Madeline  Dawson  sent  for  him. 

"That  young  aviator  is  dying,"  she  had  scrawled  on 
a  piece  of  paper. 

Heavily,  Peter,  with  dragging  feet,  made  his  way  to 
the  shack  and  to  the  cot  where  lay  Bates  Freeman.  Yes, 
he  was  going.  The  veriest  tyro  in  death  could  see  that ; 
and  Peter  Moore  had  seen  the  grim  reaper  gather  in  his 
mates  too  often  not  to  recognize  him  when  he  appeared. 

' '  I  knew — you — would  come, ' '  Bates  whispered.  ' '  See 
— I  had  a  letter — the  mail  was  in  to-day — you  know." 
Yes,  Peter  knew.  His  own  letter  had  been  in  the  same 
girlish  handwriting.  " Please  read  it — I  can't  see." 

Repressing  a  groan  Peter  read  the  love  letter  penned 
by  his  wife  to  another  man.  A  letter  full  of  loving 
words,  lively,  interesting  to  one  who  knew  of  what  she 
was  writing.  She  referred  to  his  frequent  letters  and 
the  joy  and  happiness  they  brought  her;  to  the  time 
when  he  should  come  back  to  her;  of  how  anxious  she 
was  for  fear  he  might  get  hurt  when  flying.  There  was 
a  lightness,  a  spontaneity  about  the  letter  that  revealed 
a  different  Bertha,  one  Peter  never  had  known. 

He  read  the  letter  through  faithfully,  skipping  no 
word.  That  would  be  like  cheating  a  dying  man  of  the 
last  bit  of  happiness  he  was  to  have  on  earth,  Peter 
thought  when  once  he  hesitated  before  a  love  passage. 

"Thank  you,  lieutenant — take  them  all  when  I  die — 
burn  them — but  her  picture — let  me  take — that  with  me 

243 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

— you  are — good — I  trust — you  with — Bertha — good- 
bye"— a  long-drawn  sigh  and  the  soul  of  Bates  Free- 
man, purified  by  his  sacrifice,  had  gone  to  its  Maker, 
leaving  as  a  sacred  legacy  Bertha  Moore,  the  girl  he 
loved,  to  her  own  husband,  Lieutenant  Moore,  the 
man  whom  he  believed  "good"  and  whom  he 
trusted. 

Was  ever  a  more  complicated  situation  conceived, 
Peter  wondered,  yet  with  the  large  courage  that  was  his 
he  had  not  quailed  in  the  face  of  what  would  have 
been  the  impossible  for  many.  Madeline  Dawson  told 
him  of  the  will.  In  it  "Miss"  Bertha  Moore  was  left 
sole  heir  of  Bates  Freeman's  immense  fortune,  save  for 
a  sum  of  $200,000  he  had  given  to  the  government  to  be 
used  in  the  interests  of  aviation. 

Like  a  flash  came  enlightenment.  Bates  Freeman  did 
not  know  Bertha  was  married.  That  explained  much 
he  had  said  which  before  had  puzzled  Peter.  That 
incriminating  "Miss."  But  why?  Bertha  had  been  the 
one  who  wanted  to  marry  him:  not  he  Bertha.  Per- 
haps he  was  mistaken  after  all  and  it  had  been  just  a 
slip  with  whoever  had  written  the  hurriedly  made  will 
of  the  dead  aviator. 

"Who  wrote  the  young  man's  will,  young  Freeman?" 
he  asked  the  doctor. 

"I  did,  and  the  nurse  and  one  of  the  other  doctors 
witnessed  it." 

"Miss  Dawson,  you  are  sure  he  said  'Miss'  Moore? 
There  can  be  no  mistake,  can  there  ?  I  would  like  to  be 
quite  sure."  Peter's  anxiety  to  know  made  him  care- 
less of  the  surprise  exhibited  by  both  nurse  and  doctor. 

244 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"No,  it  is  all  right.  He  mentioned  her  several  times. 
He  always  called  her  'Miss.'  " 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Dawson."  Peter  turned  away, 
still  feeling  that  perhaps  he  was  wronging  Bertha  by 
his  thought.  Yet  it  intruded  and  would  not  allow  him 
to  rest  because  of  its  insistence. 

What  should  he  do? 

Had  Peter's  mother  been  where  he  could  have  asked 
her  advice,  he  probably  would  have  done  so.  But  this 
was  something  he  could  not  put  on  paper.  The  bare 
fact  that  Bates  Freeman  had  left  his  money  to  Bertha, 
yes.  But  that  was  the  smallest  part  of  the  trouble  in 
which  he  found  himself.  That  he  could  dispose  of 
Bertha,  of  course,  could  not  accept  the  gift.  It  would 
have  to  go  to  whomever  was  next  of  kin.  But  that  in  no 
way  simplified  his  worry;  his  fear  that  Bertha  might 
have  repudiated  her  marriage  because  of  Bates  Free- 
man ;  that  she  might  have  perjured  herself.  And  Bertha 
— was  his  wife. 

Bates  Freeman  had  asked  that  the  will  be  sent  to 
America  as  soon  as  possible,  naming  the  lawyer  to  whom 
it  should  be  forwarded  and  who  would  see  that  his  wishes 
were  carried  out.  Peter  smiled  grimly  as  he  thought 
that  he  had  been  saved  that  task. 

"It's  a  wonder  he  didn't  ask  me  to  take  it  to  her," 
he  said  aloud,  the  irony  of  the  thing  on  his  nerves.  He 
had  not  been  able  to  banish  that  "Miss"  from  his  mind, 
nor  the  thought  that  Bertha  had  deceived  the  aviator 
whom  he  exonerated  from  all  blame.  "A  dying 
man  tells  the  truth.  He  thought  her  good  and 
true." 

245 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Madeline  Dawson  saw  Peter  was  troubled,  but  had 
no  thought  that  anything  in  the  dead  aviator's  will 
could  be  the  cause.  So  thinking  to  take  his  mind  from 
whatever  was  worrying  him,  she  also  told  him  of  Bates 
Freeman's  bequest  to  the  government:  the  $200,000  for 
use  in  aviation. 

"He  was  very  brave,  poor  fellow,"  she  added.  "He 
must  have  suffered  intensely ;  then  to  die  so  young.  But 
he  talked  to  me  a  little,  and  I  am  sure  he  was  good, 
that  he  had  no  reason  to  fear  going  'over  there.'  He 
told  me  very  little  about  himself,  save  that  he  had  been 
rather  wild.  Yet  from  what  he  said  I  have  a  feeling 
that  even  though  he  had  been  'wild'  he  had  not  been 
really  bad — ever.  And  since  he  joined  the  service  he 
had  been  'made  over' — so  he  expressed  it.  I  recall,  he 
said  to  me: 

"  'No  man  can  be  a  soldier  and  not  want  to  do  the 
best  he  can  to  live  right.  There  is  something  about  it 
that  takes  hold  of  a  fellow  and  makes  him  desire  to  be 
clean — clean  all  through,'  nothing  could  make  me  be- 
lieve that  he  wasn't  a  good  man,"  she  finished. 

"Yes,  Tie  was  good,"  Peter  replied,  almost  uncon- 
sciously emphasizing  the  "he."  His  face  still  retaining 
its  somber  expression. 

After  he  left  her  Madeline  looked  longingly  after  his 
retreating  figure.  Suddenly  her  eyes  filled.  He  must 
have  some  trouble  he  couldn't  or  wouldn't  share.  She 
longed  to  help  him,  to  comfort  him,  and  was  helpless. 

For  almost  the  first  time  since  he  had  known  her, 
Peter  had  no  thought  of  Madeline  Dawson  as  he  walked 
away  from  the  shack.  His  shoulders  sagged,  his  chin 

246 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

was  on  his  breast.    His  whole  figure  spoke  depression, 
trouble. 

"Yes,  he  was  good — clean,"  he  muttered,  going  over 
in  his  mind  the  little  talk  Madeline  had  had  with  Bates 
Freeman.  But  it  was  of  Bates  he  thought,  not  Made- 
line. 

The  letter  he  had  received  from  Bertha  that  morning 
was  still  in  his  pocket.  He  had  not  reread  it  as  was  his 
habit  when  hoping  to  get  some  grain  of  comfort  from 
her  quickly  scrawled  and  uninteresting  notes.  His  hand 
rustled  it,  he  drew  it  out  and  opened  it.  Slowly  as  he 
walked  he  read  it  the  second  time. 

' '  Yes,  she  was  surely  cutting  herself  off  from  everyone 
belonging  to  her.  It  must  be  because  of  some  motive, 
and  that  motive  he  felt  sure  was  her  interest  in  the 
young  aviator  now  dead,  the  man  who  wanted  her  pic- 
ture buried  with  him.  No  young  girl — that  was  all 
Bertha  was — cuts  herself  off  from  all  the  help  and  com- 
fort near  relatives  can  give,  especially  if  she  has  a  young 
baby,  without  some  very  urgent  reason ;  at  least  that  she 
considered  urgent.  Bertha  had  hoped  the  Huns  would 
get  him,  Peter,  and  that  Bates  would  come  back  to  her. 
Le  bon  Dieu  had  ordered  differently.  "One  shall  be 
taken,  the  other  left,"  occurred  to  him  as  he  tore  Ber- 
tha's note  in  tiny  pieces  and  threw  them  from  him. 


247 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

BERTHA  MOORE  was  settled  in  her  flat  and  was  really 
most  comfortable.  She  had  stumbled  onto  a  very  good 
woman,  who  was  kind  to  little  Clarence  and  who,  be- 
cause she  appreciated  having  a  place  where  she  was 
virtually  mistress,  kept  the  rooms  daintily  clean. 

There  was  one  fly  in  the  ointment  of  Bertha's  comfort 
as  far  as  her  home  was  concerned ;  no,  really  two.  Julia 
Lawrence  made  it  her  " hanging  out  place,"  as  she  ex- 
pressed it,  bringing  her  "young  man"  whenever  she  felt 
disposed,  and  taking  possession  of  the  living  room.  And 
occasionally  Aunt  Martha  would  drop  in  to  see  the  baby 
at  inopportune  times.  She  never  had  stopped  grieving 
because  Bertha  had  taken  the  child  away,  and  she  never 
came  empty-handed.  But  once  or  twice  she  had  hap- 
pened to  arrive  when  Bertha  had  company,  a  gay  crowd 
of  young  men  and  girls,  whose  actions  Mrs.  Robinson 
disapproved  of.  She  found  no  fault.  It  was  Bertha's 
home,  and  she  had  no  right,  but  her  face  plainly  showed 
she  was  scandalized. 

Julia  had  told  Bertha  she  would  be  free  to  do  as  she 
pleased  in  a  home  of  her  own,  and  Bertha  had  soon 
realized  to  the  full  the  license  it  gave  her.  She  no  longer 
tried  to  pass  herself  off  as  unmarried  among  those  whom 
she  received  at  the  flat.  It  would  have  been  impossible 

248 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

with  a  young  baby  in  the  house.  But  at  the  shop  and 
among  Bates  Freeman's  friends  she  was  still  "Miss 
Moore."  With  Bates'  departure  for  the  front  she  had 
gradually  withdrawn  from  his  set.  It  required  too  many 
excuses,  too  many  lies  told.  While  with  this  other  crowd, 
most  of  them  introduced  to  her  by  Julia  Lawrence,  she 
was  freer,  more  comfortable,  because  there  was  no  need 
of  deceit. 

Bertha  knew  very  well  that  Bates  would  disapprove 
of  these  friends.  They  were  not  at  all  in  his  class. 
Peter,  of  course,  would  have  been  horrified  to  know  that 
she,  a  married  woman,  entertained  other  men  when 
alone,  even  if  it  were  done  innocently.  His  idea  of 
married  life  was  all  taken  from  his  knowledge  of  the 
married  people  of  Haynesville.  He  had  no  other  pat- 
tern. 

So  far  as  Peter  was  concerned,  it  worried  Bertha  not 
at  all.  "He  could  like  what  she  did  or  not,  she  didn't 
care,"  she  often  told  Julia.  Her  independence  of  him, 
as  far  as  support  went,  added  to  her  recklessness  where 
he  was  concerned.  What  he  sent  her  amounted  to  so 
little  compared  to  what  she  now  earned. 

"I  should  hate  awfully  to  have  Bates  know  I  was 
friendly  with  that  bunch,"  she  remarked  inelegantly  to 
Julia  one  night  after  a  particularly  hilarious  time  with 
some  people  she  had  just  met.  Julia  was  spending  the 
night  as  she  so  often  did  after  Bertha  had  company.  It 
was  easier  than  going  home,  also  much  pleasanter. 

"It  isn't  any  of  his  business,  either,  as  I  can  see," 
Julia  returned  as  she  helped  herself  to  Bertha's  cold 
cream.  "He  isn't  taking  care  of  you,  is  he?"  Julia 

249 


never  was  quite  sure  that  Bertha  was  honest  with  her  as 
regarded  Bates  Freeman. 

"No,  it  isn't  any  of  his  business,  really,"  Bertha  re- 
turned, "but  Bates  was  awfully  particular  about  who  I 
went  with,  you  know. ' ' 

"What  he  don't  know  about  won't  hurt  him,"  Julia, 
with  her  usual  disregard  for  the  proprieties,  replied  with 
a  shrug. 

Yet  Bertha  really  felt  worried  at  times  for  fear  Bates 
would  in  some  way  hear  of  her  new  friends.  He  never 
had  quite  approved  of  Julia,  although  she  had  shown 
him  only  her  best  side.  She  was  almost  the  only  girl 
friend  Bertha  had,  however,  when  Bates  met  her,  so  he 
had  not  objected  to  the  intimacy. 

Bertha  said  nothing  more  to  Julia  on  the  subject,  but 
she  often  thought  of  it.  And  it  was  the  influence  of 
Bates  Freeman,  sport  and  man-about-town,  that  kept 
Bertha  Moore  good,  and  not  the  influence  of  Peter 
Moore,  her  husband. 

And  in  a  way  Peter,  so  far  away,  had  realized  this. 
Bates  Freeman's  talk  of  Bertha,  his  declaration  that  she 
was  "good  and  true"  had  made  Peter  understand  that 
Bates  had  been  an  influence  for  good  in  Bertha's 
life,  even  while  she  had  been  deceiving  him  so  ter- 
ribly. 

Little  Clarence  was  also  doing  something  toward  keep- 
ing Bertha  from  the  too  free  manners  and  customs  of 
some  of  her  associates.  It  is  not  easy  for  the  mother  of  a 
young  child  to  ignore  entirely  her  duty  to  him,  his  claims 
upon  her.  That  this  new  "set"  knew  of  the  child  was 
also  a  protection  to  that  child's  mother.  They  called 

250 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

him  "the  kid"  and  joked  Bertha  about  him,  but  never- 
theless he  was  a  restraining  influence. 

Bertha  had  thought  seriously  of  leaving  her  present 
position  and  going  into  business  for  herself.  Her  clien- 
tele warranted  it.  She  could  easily  find  backing  among 
the  importers  and  wholesalers.  She  was  held  back  by 
the  thought  of  Bates;  that  if  he  returned  and  Peter 
didn't,  they  could  be  married  at  once.  Each  day  brought 
news  of  the  Americans  killed  and  wounded.  It  was  with 
conflicting  emotions,  however,  that  she  eagerly  scanned 
the  page — emotions  she  would  have  been  ashamed  to 
analyze. 

Bertha's  mother  had  spent  a  week  with  her  in  the 
little  flat  which,  to  her  mind,  was  so  luxurious.  Bertha 's 
good  taste  had  made  her  careful  in  her  buying,  and 
the  rooms  were  quietly  and  prettily  furnished.  In  fact, 
they  had  quite  an  "air." 

Mrs.  Hunter  had  been  rather  uncomfortable  during 
the  seven  days  she  was  in  New  York.  The  middle-aged 
woman  who  took  care  of  the  house  and  the  baby  as  well 
resented  any  suggestions  Mrs.  Hunter  made,  and  stub- 
bornly refused  either  to  be  convinced  or  to  follow  them. 
While  she,  anxious  only  for  Bertha's  welfare,  for  the 
comfort  and  health  of  the  baby,  grieved  that  no  atten- 
tion was  paid  her  plans  for  them. 

"He  is  just  like  his  father,"  she  told  Bertha.  "Just 
like  him.  There  isn't  a  bit  of  Hunter  in  him,  nor  of 
my  side  of  the  house,  either.  I  hope  he  will  be  as  good 
a  man  as  his  father  is,"  she  added,  her  mind  reverting 
to  the  vapid,  perfumed  youth  who  had  called  on  Bertha 
the  night  she  made  her  unexpected  appearance.  She  had 

251 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

hoped  to  give  Bertha  a  happy  surprise,  so  had  not 
written  her  she  was  coming.  Unfortunately,  she  had 
chanced  in  after  one  of  Bertha's  parties  and  the  innocu- 
ous young  man  had  remained  after  the  rest  had  left. 

"I  guess  he'll  be  all  right,"  Bertha  had  answered. 
"I  don't  know  that  being  like  Peter  will  make  him  any 
better,  though." 

"  Peter  is  a  very  good  boy,  Bertha.  He  writes  his 
mother  every  chance  he  gets;  and  he  must  send  you 
pretty  near  all  his  money  now  that  you  are  living  alone. 
Aunt  Martha  is  feeling  awfully  bad  yet  about  your  leav- 
ing her.  She  said  Nat  offered  to  keep  you  for  nothing 
if  you  would  stay.  I  should  think  you  would  have  liked 
to  be  with  her.  She  loves  the  baby." 

"I  didn't  propose  to  live  with  anyone!"  Bertha 
snapped.  She  never  had  felt  the  slightest  fear  to  say 
what  she  willed  to  her  mother,  and  now  there  was  no 
hesitation  in  her  speech.  "I  am  a  married  woman.  I 
earn  my  own  money — three  times  as  much  as  Peter  ever 
thought  of  getting — and  I  intend  to  have  my  own  home 
where  I  can  invite  my  friends  and  go  out  with  them 
when  I  please  and  not  be  talked  to  as  if  I  were  a  child 
if  I  am  out  after  ten  o'clock.  If  Uncle  Nat  had  held 
his  tongue  I  might  have  been  there  yet.  What  differ- 
ence does  it  make  if  I  am  married  ?  I  never  see  my  hus- 
band, and  I  am  young  and  like  a  good  time.  I  am  going 
to  have  it,  too,  just  whenever  I  can.  You  and  all  the 
rest  may  as  well  understand  it. ' ' 

After  this  tirade  meek  Mrs.  Hunter  never  again  men- 
tioned anything  Bertha  did  while  she  remained.  But 
her  heart  ached  when  she  saw  the  sort  of  girls  that  were 

252 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

her  daughter's  companions — Bertha  kept  the  young  men 
away  while  her  mother  was  with  her — they  were  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  simple,  red-cheeked  Haynesville  girls, 
not  only  in  appearance,  but  in  manners. 

' '  They  can 't  be  bad  girls, ' '  she  said  to  herself  one  day 
while  holding  the  baby.  Bertha  was,  as  usual,  at  the 
shop  and  Ellen,  the  "housekeeper,"  as  she  insisted  upon 
being  called,  was  out.  "Bertha  wouldn't  like  them  if 

they  were.  But  I  wish "  She  went  no  further  in 

her  thoughts.  Like  Peter  she  realized  suddenly  that 
Bertha  would  do  as  she  pleased.  Also,  she  understood 
that  she  had  lost  her ;  that  she  was  just  as  far  from  them 
all  as  if  she  were  lying  in  the  little  country  churchyard 
beside  the  boy  who  had  died  almost  before  he  had  lived. 

Bertha  got  off  long  enough  to  take  her  mother  to  the 
train  when  she  went  back  to  Haynesville.  She  had 
given  her  a  new  dress  and  a  very  nice  bonnet,  so  con- 
sidered she  had  done  her  duty.  That  her  mother  had 
intended  to  remain  with  her  a  month  or  six  weeks  she 
never  dreamed.  .  Mrs.  Hunter  had  not  mentioned  it  either 
to  Bertha  or  to  her  husband's  sister.  But  her  heart 
sank  when  she  thought  of  how  she  could  explain  her 
quick  return  to  Henry  and  to  the  neighbors,  especially 
to  John  Moore  and  his  wife. 

"I  hate  to  have  them  think  she  is  so — different,"  she 
muttered  as  she  waved  her  hand  at  Bertha  as  the  train 
moved  away.  "I  wish  I  could  keep  it  from  them,"  and 
all  the  long,  lonely  journey  Bertha's  mother  wept  hot 
scalding  tears  behind  her  veil  because  of  the  change  in 
her  child. 

That  Bertha  was  not  radically  changed  she  couldn't 
253 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

realize  nor  would  she  admit  it  if  she  did.  Yet  she  was 
the  same  selfish  girl  she  always  was.  Only  now  that  they 
had  been  so  long  separated  Mrs.  Hunter  noticed  it  more 
than  when  Bertha  was  with  her:  that  daily  taking 
all  and  giving  nothing  in  return  either  of  love  or 
service. 

"Well,  I  am  glad  you  are  alone  again!"  Julia  Law- 
rence said  the  night  Mrs.  Hunter  went  away,  as  she 
flopped  into  the  most  comfortable  chair  in  the  room. 
"No  one  could  talk  or  have  a  bit  of  fun  with  your  mother 
here.  I  was  frightened  to  death  she  would  stay  a  long 
time." 

"Too  bad  about  you !  If  you  wanted  a  good  time  why 
didn't  you  have  it  at  home?  You  don't  always  have 
to  come  here,  you  know."  Bertha  was  goaded  into  the 
reply  by  the  thought  that  she,  too,  was  glad  her  mother 
had  gone,  although  her  pride  would  not  allow  her  to 
confess  it,  even  to  Julia. 

' '  Now  don 't  be  mad !  I  didn  't  mean  anything.  Heard 
from  Bates?" 

"Not  for  days.  A  letter  should  be  here  by  to-mor- 
row." Bertha  was  only  too  glad  to  change  the  subject. 

Acting  on  her  husband's  advice,  to  whom  she  had 
confessed  all  her  thoughts  and  fears  concerning  Bertha, 
Mrs.  Hunter  had  simply  explained  that  she  was  not 
well  and  had  returned  because  she  feared  a  recurrence 
of  her  severe  illness  while  away  from  home.  No  one 
questioned  the  truth  of  her  statement:  although  Peter's 
mother  had  read  between  the  lines  of  her  son's  letters, 
and  understood.  But  upon  the  subject  of  Peter's  baby 
she  could  not  hear  enough.  Mrs.  Hunter  had  to  explain 

254 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

just  how  he  looked  a  dozen  times  over ;  what  kind  of  food 
he  had;  how  they  dressed  him;  if  he  needed  anything, 
and  all  the  questions  a  loving  woman  could  ask  concern- 
ing her  first  grandchild. 

Happily  Mrs.  Hunter  could  satisfy  her  on  all  points 
connected  with  the  baby.  He  was  well  cared  for;  fat 
and  happy.  They  sewed  together  for  the  little  fellow, 
often  talking  of  what  they  hoped  he  would  become  when 
he  grew  up.  And  strangely  they  both  agreed  that  they 
wanted  him  to  be  like  Peter. 

Peter  was  now  "Captain  Moore."  His  wonderful 
work  in  the  trenches — when  he  had  brought  in  several 
German  prisoners  unaided — had  won  him  his  promotion. 
It  had  happened  the  very  night  after  Bates  Freeman 
had  died.  In  Peter's  reckless  daring  there  may  have 
been  something  of  despair  because  of  the  situation  con- 
fronting him.  His  men,  accustomed  as  they  were  to  his 
rash  going  after  the  Huns,  were  amazed  at  his  courage. 
But  while  always  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  and  while 
he  did  marvelous  things,  he  came  through  unscathed. 

Peter  felt  the  splendor  of  war  in  his  very  soul.  It 
dwarfed  all  else,  even  the  fact  of  Bertha's  faithlessness. 
The  fortitude  of  his  men  was  augmented  by  watching  the 
intrepid  spirit  of  their  leader.  His  dogged  driving  of 
himself  was  repeated  in  his  driving  of  his  men,  but  none 
complained.  They  had  caught  his  spirit  and  would  fight 
on  to  the  end  of  the  war — were  they  spared — and  count 
no  sacrifice  too  great  to  assure  its  success. 

That  he  had  been  rewarded  meant  very  little  to  him, 
save  that  it  was  the  outward  sign  that  he  had  not  been 
found  wanting  when  duty  called.  He  had  no  slightest 

255 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

desire  for  empty  honors.  He  realized  that  to  meet  the 
real  test  the  soul  must  be  strong  as  well  as  the  body. 
He  knew  that  inferno  of  the  battlefield ;  that  vast  sea  of 
mud,  blood,  and  dead  men  which  was  called  "No  Man's 
Land;"  had  proved  the  salvation  of  many  men.  Men 
who  were  before  the  war,  and  who,  but  for  the  war  would 
remain  forever  commonplace,  had  developed  a  heroism  of 
daily  life  seemingly  impossible  to  them.  They  did  heroic 
things  constantly,  expecting  no  reward  save  that  of  their 
own  consciousness  of  duty  done  or  the  privilege  to  die 
for  their  country. 

It  is  perhaps  the  bigness  of  their  motive  that  gives 
them  such  courage,  and  that  takes  away  the  fear  of  the 
hereafter  often  so  poignantly  felt  by  the  people  of  the 
class  from  whom  are  recruited  many  of  our  soldiers.  It 
is  the  man  who  sees  big  things  who  does  them.  And  big 
things  were  happening  constantly. 

Peter  knew  that  if  he  lived  there  was  a  long  trail  of 
sorrow  awaiting  him.  He  had  come  to  a  point  when 
death  seemed  a  release,  and  yet  he  did  not  court  it  too 
passionately.  He  remembered  the  promise  he  had  made 
to  his  mother ;  his  duty  to  his  son. 

Madeline  Dawson  had  been  among  the  first  to  hear 
of  his  commission  and  to  congratulate  him. 

"You  must  be  proud,"  she  said  as  she  shook  his  hand, 
her  eyes  shining  with  joy.  Joy  that  recognition  had 
come  to  him. 

"I  only  did  my  duty  as  every  man  is  doing  it." 

"Oh,  but  I  have  been  hearing  for  days  how  brave  you 
were!  I  knew  you  would  surely  have  some  sort  of 
recognition  for  such  bravery — and  for  accomplishing  so 

256 


much  almost  single  handed.    Why,  it  was  wonderful!" 

"  It  is  more  wonderful  to  have  you  here  to  talk  to  me, ' ' 
he  said  softly,  as  he  released  her  hand.  Then,  fearing 
he  would  be  tempted  to  say  more,  he  turned  abruptly 
and  strode  away. 

"What  is  it?"  Madeline  said  to  herself  with  quiver- 
ing lip  as  she  watched.  ' '  There  is  something — some  rea- 
son. ' '  She  had  seen  the  love-light  flash  into  his  eyes  as 
he  took  her  hand ;  then  had  seen  it  die  away  and  a  grim 
something  take  its  place.  A  something  she  could  not 
understand. 

' '  I  must  not  see  her  again — I  must  keep  away. ' '  Peter 
was  muttering  as  he  marched  along  with  quick,  nervous 
step.  "It  isn't  fair  to  her."  For  the  first  time  he  had 
dimly  understood  that  she  cared.  He  dared  not  think 
it  was  for  him,  Peter  Moore ;  it  was  only  for  his  success 
as  a  soldier.  It  was  very  sweet,  he  thought,  her  womanly 
sympathy  and  understanding;  so  different  from  Ber- 
tha's, and  in  quality  so  like  that  of  his  mother's. 

Had  Peter  known  that  Madeline  Dawson  often  wept 
because  of  his  indifference;  that  she  had  given  him  her 
entire  affection,  her  love,  he  would  have  been  immeas- 
urably distressed.  But  he  was  too  modest,  too  lacking 
in  a  sense  of  his  own  superiority  to  dream  of  such  a 
thing.  To  him  she  was,  and  must  always  remain,  the 
"English  Angel,"  an  angel  of  mercy  and  goodness  to  the 
afflicted  soldier. 


257 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

BERTHA  opened  her  morning  paper.  Her  desire  for 
information  had  not  increased,  and  it  was  usually  only 
the  advertisements  and  the  fashions  which  interested  her 
now,  even  as  it  had  been  all  that  had  appealed  to  her 
before  she  married  Peter. 

But  the  black  headlines  caught  her  eye : 

"Daring  aviator  badly  hurt.  Millionaire  flyer  comes 
down  just  inside  the  lines.  Mechanician  killed. ' ' 

Bates  was  an  aviator  so  she  commenced  to  read. 
Suddenly  she  turned  white  and  trembled.  She  saw  a 
name  staring  at  her  from  the  printed  column. 

"Bates  Freeman,  the  daring  millionaire  aviator, 
either  was  shot  down  or  fell  just  inside  our  lines  after 
bringing  down  three  German  planes.  His  mechanician 
was  killed.  Freeman  is  badly  hurt  in  hospital.  He  was 
one  of  the  bravest,  most  skilled  American  aviators  in 
France.'* 

Bertha  read  the  short  notice  over  again.  "Badly 
hurt,"  they  said. 

She  shuddered  as  mechanically  she  put  on  her  hat 
and  started  for  the  shop. 

"Isn't  it  awful,  Bertha?"  Julia  greeted  her.  "Good 
old  Bates.  I  hope  it  ain't  the  end  of  him."  Then, 
"Don't  look  so  glum.  While  there's  life  there's 

258 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

hope.  The  paper  says  he's  badly  hurt.  It  don't 
even  say  'seriously'  like  it  does  when  they  are  going  to 
die." 

"Don't  talk  to  me,  Julia.  It's  too  awful."  For  once 
Bertha  was  so  shocked  she  had  not  given  a  single  thought 
to  the  way  she  herself  might  be  affected.  Some  way  she 
had  not  thought  much  of  the  possibility  of  Bates  being 
hurt.  Peter,  yes.  Of  course  he  was  in  danger  when  he 
was  always  fighting  the  Germans.  But  Bates,  flying 
around  in  his  plane,  one  he  himself  had  had  built  and 
which  he  had  paid  for  as  he  did  for  all  his  other 
fads  and  toys.  She  could  not  conceive  him  as  being  in 
trouble. 

Bates  had  been  most  generous  to  the  war  needs.  He 
had  given  large  sums  for  different  causes,  the  Red  Cross, 
etc.,  but  the  bulk  of  his  gifts  had  been  to  increase  the 
efficiency  of  the  aviation  corps.  In  thinking  of  him  it 
had  been  mostly  in  connection  with  his  gifts  that  he  and 
the  war  had  been  associated  in  Bertha's  mind.  She  knew 
he  flew,  of  course.  But  so  had  he  at  home — down  on 
Long  Island.  Nearly  every  day  he  spent  the  time  while 
she  was  in  the  shop  "playing  he  was  a  bird,"  as  he  used 
to  tell  her,  coming  to  the  city  in  time  to  take  her  to 
dinner  and  to  spend  the  evening  with  her.  He  had 
promised  to  take  her  up  with  him  after  they  were  mar- 
ried, telling  her  it  was  as  safe  or  safer  than  crossing 
Fifth  Avenue  during  busy  hours  of  the  day.  The  dan- 
ger he  never  talked  about.  Consequently,  Bertha  never 
thought  seriously  of  it. 

"You  look  as  if  he  were  dead  already,"  Julia  said 
to  her  in  the  course  of  the  morning.  ' '  Do  brace  up.  He 

259 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

may  be  up  and  around  again  by  this  time.  You  can't 
believe  half  you  read,  anyway."  She  really  wanted  to 
comfort  Bertha  and  also  persuade  herself  that  Bates 
would  return.  She  was  loath  to  give  up  the  advantages 
she  hoped  would  belong  to  her  through  her  friendship 
for  both  Bates  and  Bertha  when  they  were  again 
together. 

When  the  next  day  came  there  was  no  further  news, 
save  the  more  explicit  telling  of  how  Bates  had  fallen  be- 
cause his  machine  had  been  injured  by  a  Hun  flyer,  and 
describing  more  minutely  the  luck  which  had  been  his  in 
coming  down  inside  of  our  own  lines.  He  was  "badly 
hurt,  but  resting  easily,"  the  correspondent  had  added. 
The  metropolitan  papers  had  all  contained  an  eulogy  of 
Bates  Freeman,  young  millionaire,  whom  the  war  had 
taken  from  the  Great  White  Way.  His  bravery  was 
extolled,  also  his  generosity. 

' '  One  would  think  he  was  dead  and  they  were  writing 
his  obituary!"  Julia  grumbled. 

"He  was  generous,  awfully  generous,"  Bertha  said 
slowly.  "He  gave  heaps  of  money  to  the  war  even 
before  he  went  away.  I  suppose  he'll  have  given  them  a 
lot  more  by  now. ' ' 

"It  won't  make  any  difference  if  he  has.  I  heard  a 
man  who  knows  say  that  Bates  Freeman  had  so  much 
money  he  couldn't  spend  it  if  he  tried.  It's  a  pity  you 
didn't  marry  him  before  he  went  away." 

' '  But  I  couldn  't ! "  Bertha  had  commenced  to  wonder 
if  Bates  died  what  would  become  of  all  her  plans. 

"Wuxtry!  Wuxtry!"  Both  girls  hurried  to  the 
door  of  the  shop  and  simultaneously  called  the  passing 

260 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Bates  Freeman,  millionaire  American  aviator,  dead 
of  the  injuries  received  when  he  fell  in  his  plane,  which 
had  been  pierced  by  German  bullets  until  it  collapsed. 
His  mechanician  was  killed  immediately."  Then  fol- 
lowed an  exhaustive  account  of  Bates  Freeman 's  life,  his 
immense  fortune,  the  fact  that  he  had  no  near  relatives 
to  inherit  it  and  speculation  as  to  what  he  might  do 
with  it. 

' '  He 's  dead ! ' '  Bertha  said,  then  burst  into  tears.  She 
had  really  cared  for  Bates  as  much  as  she  was  capable  of 
caring  for  anyone. 

Peter  had  been  fighting  for  days.  He  had  had  no 
time  to  think  either  of  Bates  Freeman  or  of  Bertha. 
When  there  came  a  chance  to  rest,  he  was  so  exhausted 
he  immediately  fell  asleep.  It  was  the  crux  of  the  Ger- 
man offensive.  Gradually  the  Allies  had  been  obliged 
to  yield  ground  or  see  their  men  slaughtered  for  the  sake 
of  inadequate  gains. 

As  usual,  Peter  had  been  in  the  thick  of  that  last 
charge.  It  was  a  hopeless  charge;  and  he  went  down 
with  the  onrush  of  the  Germans.  For  a  short  time  he 
saw  death  staring  him  in  the  face.  Then  when  next  he 
became  conscious  of  his  surroundings  he  opened  his  eyes 
to  see  Madeline  Dawson,  the  English  angel,  bending 
tenderly  over  him. 

"What  happened?  Why  am  I  here?"  Then  it  came 
back  to  him,  that  hopeless  charge.  The  feeling  that  he 
was  dying. 

"You  were  gassed  a  little  and  wounded,"  Madeline 
answered  gently.  ' '  You  were  very  brave.  Now  I  forbid 

261 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

you  to  talk  any  more."  And  she  laid  her  soft,  cool  palm 
over  his  lips. 

That  he  had  been  mentioned  for  the  French  War 
Cross  and  had  been  also  awarded  the  Distinguished 
Service  Cross  she  would  tell  him  later.  How  even  after 
he  had  been  wounded,  he  had  held  the  enemy  back  with 
a  handful  of  men,  so  saving  the  lives  of  perhaps  hun- 
dreds of  his  comrades,  could  also  be  told  him,  if  he  lived. 
Just  now  quiet  was  absolutely  necessary.  His  heart  had 
been  affected,  his  right  arm  terribly  injured  by  shrapnel, 
and  a  bullet  had  gone  through  his  shoulder. 

Madeline,  much  as  she  wanted  to,  could  give  him 
scarcely  more  care  than  the  others.  The  casualties  had 
been  great.  The  little  shack  was  full  to  overflowing. 
Her  "babies"  needed  twice  the  care  she  could  give,  al- 
though she  had  not  slept  since  they  were  brought  in. 
The  other  nurses,  too,  were  hurrying  from  one  to  an- 
other; the  doctors  working  like  mad  to  save  the  lives 
of  as  many  as  possible,  and  making  more  comfortable 
those  for  whom  amputations  were  necessary. 

But  Madeline's  eyes  often  flew  to  the  cot  upon  which 
Peter  lay.  He  had  quietly  obeyed  her  when  she  told 
him  he  must  not  talk ;  but  she  had  no  way  of  knowing  if 
he  were  asleep  or  if  he  were  suffering.  How  proud  she 
was  of  him  as  one  of  his  men  told  of  his  bravery. 

"My  brave  Captain,"  she  murmured,  listening  to  his 
praises  as  she  tenderly  bound  up  the  wounds  of  the 
talkative  private,  who  would  be  transferred  immediately 
to  make  room  for  one  more  seriously  wounded. 

"You  must  be  proud  of  him,"  the  soldier,  who  had 
heard,  said  to  her,  causing  her  to  blush  furiously.  She 

262 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

thought  at  first  she  would  explain  that  Peter  was  only  a 
friend.  Then,  with  another  blush,  decided  to  say  noth- 
ing. Perhaps  now  that  he  was  here  where  she  had  to 
care  for  him — perhaps.  She  halted  her  thoughts  to 
answer  the  call  of  a  wounded  poilu  who  had  been  dying 
when  brought  into  the  shack. 

For  days  Peter's  life  hung  in  the  balance.  For  days 
Madeline  spent  every  available  minute  at  his  side. 
When  she  was  busy  about  the  shack,  or  attending  to  her 
"babies,"  his  eyes  followed  her  with  a  longing  in  them 
which  told  plainly  the  secret  he  thought  all  his  own. 
And  greatest  pity  of  all  they  told  it  to  Madeline. 

Seeing  it  she  had  gone  about  her  work  even  more  joy- 
ously than  was  usual  for  her,  as  it  was  part  of  her 
religion  to  cheer  those  under  her  care.  "Part  of  her 
job"  she  called  it.  But  her  voice  had  a  happier  lilt,  and 
even  the  pain  and  anguish  of  her  "babies"  could  not 
quite  dim  the  glad  light  in  her  eyes. 

The  doctor  said  that  Peter  would  live.  When 
he  told  her,  Madeline  for  the  first  time  gave  way,  and, 
rushing  from  the  shack  to  her  room  nearby,  she  cried  for 
pure  happiness. 

"She  cares  for  that  young  captain,"  the  doctor  mur- 
mured. He  had  built  a  dream  about  Madeline  Dawson, 
hoping  that  after  the  war  was  over  it  might  come  true. 
Now  he  saw  it  fading  away,  and  with  a  heartache,  per- 
haps the  harder  to  bear  because  of  his  surroundings,  he 
gave  her  to  Peter,  the  man  whom  his  men  adored;  be- 
cause he  was  the  cleanest,  as  well  as  the  bravest  soldier 
of  them  all. 

While  Madeline  was  weeping,  and  the  young  doctor 

263 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

was  unselfishly  bestowing  her  on  Peter,  who,  he  thought 
was  the  better  man,  Peter  was  lying  weak,  inert  on  the 
hospital  cot.  He  was  in  a  good  deal  of  pain.  But  his 
mind  was  alert,  active. 

If  he  were  to  die  it  would  set  Bertha  free,  and  give 
her  a  fortune  at  the  same  time.  Strange,  he  thought, 
that  he  and  that  young  aviator  should  both  be  hurt. 
Then  again  there  ran  through  his  mind: 

"One  shall  be  taken,  the  other  left." 

"I  am  needed  to  fight.  We  haven't  licked  the  Huns 
yet,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  then  determinedly  closed 
his  eyes.  The  doctor  had  said  he  must  have  rest  and 
sleep.  Aside  from  his  wounds  and  the  effects  of  the 
gas  he  was  worn  out  with  the  strain  of  the  long  battle. 
But  he  still  had  an  intense  desire  to  get  back.  To  fight 
for  country  and  right. 

"I  hope  mother  won't  be  worried,"  he  muttered  as  he 
closed  his  eyes.  Strangely  no  thought  of  Bertha  came  to 
him  in  that  connection.  He  never  thought  of  her  as 
worrying  about  him;  although  he  had  asked  them  to 
cable  her  as  well  as  his  mother. 

Madeline  Dawson  had  requested  she  might  be  the 
one  to  tell  Peter  he  had  been  cited  for  the  War  Cross, 
also  that  he  had  been  awarded  the  Distinguished  Service 
Cross.  Her  disappointment  was  keen  that  he  seemed  so 
careless  of  the  honor.  Not  knowing  him  well,  she  imag- 
ined that  his  indifference  was  caused  by  the  thought  that 
he  was  not  going  to  recover.  She  knew  how  fatal  that 
feeling  was  once  it  seized  upon  a  man  in  his  condition. 

"It  is  a  great  honor,"  she  had  told  him. 

"I  am  glad  you  are  pleased.  I  only  did  my  duty." 

264 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"You  did  far  more  than  what  was  required  of  you," 
was  her  reply. 

"  No ;  you  are  mistaken.  No  more  than  I,  myself,  knew 
to  be  necessary." 

"You  are  the  bravest  man  I  know!"  she  said, 
the  tears  rushing  to  her  eyes.  She  knew  from  the 
nature  of  his  wounds  that  he  suffered  excruciatingly  at 
times.  Yet  never  had  a  complaint  or  a  moan  escaped 
his  lips.  After  he  had  been  assured  that  his  mother's 
anxiety  would  be  allayed,  he  asked  no  favors,  made  no 
demands. 

"He  only  wants  to  get  well  to  fight,"  Madeline  said 
one  day  in  wonderment.  Could  she  have  been  mistaken 
in  the  look  of  love  and  longing  she  had  seen  in  his  eyes 
when  he  first  recovered  consciousness  ?  Now  that  he  was 
allowed  to  talk,  the  only  desire  he  expressed  was  to  get 
back;  to  fight. 

Slow,  very  slow,  was  Peter's  improvement.  At  times 
Madeline  Dawson  almost  lost  courage  to  hope  that  he 
would  get  well.  He  seemed  more  reserved  than  ever, 
and  this  reserve  increased  as  he  grew  stronger.  His 
mother  wrote  a  long;  loving,  helpful  letter.  She  said 
nothing  of  her  own  agony  when  she  heard  of  his 
being  so  seriously  wounded.  She  injected  all  the  bright- 
ness, the  courage  of  her  own  indomitable  spirit  in  her 
letter ;  that  spirit  inherited  by  Peter. 

Peter  read  her  letter,  then  said  to  Madeline  with 
a  smile: 

"Would  you  like  to  know  what  kind  of  a  mother  I 
have?"  and  passed  the  letter  to  her. 

"No  wonder  you  are  brave!"  Madeline  said  as  she 

265 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

finished  the  letter  and  returned  it  to  Peter.  "You 
couldn't  help  but  be,  with  such  a  mother.  How  you  must 
love  her!" 

"I  love  her  better  than  anyone  on  earth,"  he  said 
solemnly.  Then  he  added,  smiling,  "She  always  under- 
stands." 

Madeline  turned  away  with  an  appreciative  smile, 
but  a  little  ache  in  her  heart.  She  would  ' '  understand, ' ' 
too,  she  thought,  if  only  she  might;  if  Peter  would  let 
her.  Each  day  the  wounded  captain  was  growing  dearer 
to  her.  Each  day  her  pride  in  him  increased  as  she 
heard  of  the  things  he  had  done.  His  colonel  and  other 
superior  officers  came  to  the  shack.  The  general,  too, 
sent  word  and  had  spoken  in  terms  of  praise  of  Captain 
Moore. 

"You  must  make  him  well,"  the  colonel  said  to 
Madeline.  "We  can't  afford  to  lose  such  men  as  he," 
and  Madeline  had  promised  to  do  her  best  in  such  a 
naive  way  that  one  more  man  went  away  knowing  her 
secret  and  called  Peter  "a  lucky  dog,"  envy  in  his 
voice. 

Madeline  had  begun  to  think  that  she  must  have 
been  mistaken,  that  Peter  cared  nothing  for  her.  She 
came  to  this  conclusion  one  night  when  she  left  the  shack, 
and  he  had  not  noticed.  She  could  not  know  that  his 
mind  was  distressed  by  the  thought  of  Bates  Freeman's 
will;  that  in  his  absorption  he  had  not  even  been  con- 
scious of  her  presence  as  she  glided  noiselessly  past, 
whispering  her  good-night. 

In  her  little  cheerless  room  she  sat  on  the  bed  in  her 
nurse's  uniform  and  pressed  her  hands  to  her  aching 

266 


heart  and  thanked  "Le  bon  Dieu"  for  the  privacy  of  it. 
Thank  God  she  was  alone  and  could  weep  out  her  sorrow 
with  none  to  see. 

In  her  youthful  ardor  she  had  wanted  to  know  at 
once  that  Peter  loved  her.  Not  a  doubt  of  his  love  had 
entered  her  mind  in  the  first  days  of  his  stay  in  the 
shack.  Now  she  was  all  doubt. 

"I'm  not  a  woman,  I'm  a  nurse,"  she  said  over  and 
over,  as  if  in  the  saying  she  found  strength.  The 
chances  of  war  had  brought  them  together.  There  had 
been  little  of  war's  horror  they  had  not  seen — both  of 
them.  Now  he  was  just  a  wounded  soldier,  one  of  her 
"babies"  and  she  his  nurse.  Yet  try  as  she  would  she 
could  not  quite  banish  the  memory  of  that  longing  look 
in  Peter's  eyes  when  he  first  recovered  consciousness, 
and  in  a  measure  it  comforted  her. 

' '  It  was  love ! ' '  she  said  to  herself.  Then  there  flashed 
over  her  mind  the  thought  that  perhaps  he  wasn't  free. 
It  came  with  a  great  shock.  Never  had  she  visualized 
Peter  as  being  bound.  He  had  seemed  in  some  way  so 
detached.  Now  she  held  her  brows  tight  and  strove  to 
concentrate  her  mind  on  things  that  he  had  said  and 
done ;  she  must  not  deceive  herself  longer  that  he  cared 
if  he  did  not,  or  if  there  were — someone  else.  Made- 
line realized  that  she  was  worn  to  the  breaking  point; 
that  not  since  Peter  had  been  brought  in  on  that  night 
of  agony  had  she  slept  normally.  It  might  well  be  that 
she  was  a  bit  hysterical.  Yet  before  she  took  off  her 
nurse's  uniform  and  crept  between  the  coarse  sheets  she 
once  more  murmured: 

"I'm  not  a  woman,  I'm  a  nurse." 
267 


CHAPTER  XXV 

HAD  Bertha  been  interested  in  the  war,  in  any  of  its 
phases,  she  might  have  accomplished  her  womanhood; 
but  she  was  not.  She  was  only  interested  in  herself. 
So  since  Bates  Freeman's  death  she  had  not  looked  at 
the  papers,  had  even  ceased  to  look  at  the  fashions.  She 
seemed  lethargic  to  Julia,  who  had  done  everything  to 
rouse  her  to  some  sort  of  interest  in  what  was  going  on. 

"You  are  sure  to  get  something  from  Bates,"  she  told 
Bertha,  "and  as  long  as  you  were  determined  not  to 
marry  him  I  don't  see  why  you  act  so." 

"Don't  bother  me,"  Bertha  would  answer. 

It  was  at  the  shop.  Bertha  was  late.  She  had  stopped 
to  play  with  little  Clarence  who  was  growing  more  cun- 
ning every  day.  Julia  met  her  at  the  door ;  news  written 
large  on  her  expressive  face. 

"Isn't  it  awful  he  couldn't  have  been  hurt  first?"  she 
asked. 

"Hurt— who?" 

"Haven't  you  seen?"  she  pointed  to  the  paper.  She 
had  taken  it  for  granted  that  Bertha  was  late  because  of 
the  distressing  news. 

Bertha  reached  for  the  paper,  and  read  slowly  the 
short  item  telling  of  Peter  Moore 's  having  been  wounded. 
Then  in  the  casualty  column  his  name  was  among  the 

268 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

severely  wounded.    She  made  no  remark,  and  went  about 
her  work  as  usual. 

"You're  a  queer  girl,  Bertha.  Why  don't  you  say 
something?" 

"There's  nothing  to  say,"  Bertha  returned  heavily.; 
Yet  all  day  as  she  went  about  her  work,  the  words  "too 
late ' '  kept  coming  to  her  mind.  She  felt  no  sorrow  that 
Peter  might  die;  he  really  meant  little  to  her.  But 
neither  did  she  feel  gladness.  She  was  like  an  uninter- 
ested spectator. 

The  next  day  there  was  more  news;  just  as  on  the 
second  day  there  had  been  further  news  of  Bates.  And, 
although  Peter  was  not  a  millionaire  and  had  never  been 
an  habitue  of  the  Great  White  Way,  the  metropolitan 
papers  gave  him  as  much  space  as  they  had  Bates.  They 
lauded  his  bravery,  they  spoke  of  his  being  cited  for  the 
Croix  de  Guerre,  also  of  the  award  of  the  Distinguished 
Service  Cross  by  his  own  country.  But  Bertha's  heart 
beats  never  quickened. 

Then  came  the  cable  saying  he  would  live : 

"Captain  Moore  will  doubtless  recover,"  it  had  been 
signed  by  the  doctor. 

That  same  day  Peter's  mother  wired  her: 

"Cable  just  received.  Peter  will  live.  Try  not  to 
worry.  Mother. ' ' 

Bertha  showed  them  both  to  Julia,  and  when  that 
sympathetic  person  remarked: 

"Of  course,  he  would  be  the  one  to  live,"  she  made 
no  reply. 

Julia  thought  she  had  some  reason  to  be  disgruntled. 
Since  Bates  Freeman's  death  Bertha  had  not  been  as 

269 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

cordial.  She  had  not  asked  Julia  to  go  home  with  her ; 
and  when  Julia  had  gone  uninvited  one  evening,  Bertha 
had  bluntly  told  her  she  didn't  wish  her  to  stay  all 
night. 

Bertha  could  not  have  explained  her  desire  to  be  alone 
had  she  been  asked.  She  had  not  grieved  unduly  for 
Bates.  Not  at  all  now  did  she  grieve  because  of  Peter's 
suffering.  But  she  often  sat  alone  for  long  spaces  think- 
ing of  the  good  times  she  had  had  with  Bates ;  what  he 
had  done  for  her,  and  that  had  she  married  him  instead 
of  Peter  she  would  now  be  wearing  one  of  those  lovely 
mourning  bonnets  she  sold,  and  be  heiress  to  his  millions. 

Yet  Bertha  did  not  always  mope.  Little  Clarence  took 
much  of  her  time  when  out  of  the  shop.  She  loved  her 
boy.  She  did  not  love  the  care  of  him,  but  to  pet  and 
play  with  him ;  to  curl  his  soft  hair  around  her  fingers, 
and  to  dress  him  daintily,  delighted  her.  With  a  sudden 
impulse  she  took  him  one  Saturday  afternoon  and  had 
his  picture  taken.  She  mailed  one  to  Peter  with  no  word 
from  her,  but  she  put  the  baby's  name,  age,  and  the 
date  on  the  back  of  the  card.  She  had  written  Peter  a 
hasty  line  after  receiving  the  cable.  When  she  heard, 
she  would  write  again.  She  had  also  mailed  one  of  the 
baby's  pictures  to  her  mother  and  to  Mrs.  Moore,  and 
had  taken  one  out  to  Aunt  Martha.  She  had  called  a 
taxi  and  taken  the  baby  with  her. 

Aunt  Martha's  surprise  and  delight  knew  no  bounds. 
She  cried  happy  tears  over  Clarence;  then  persuaded 
Bertha  to  remain  to  dinner  so  that  Uncle  Nat  could  see 
how  he  had  grown. 

She  prepared  all  the  things  Bertha  liked  for  dinner; 
270 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

between  times  stopping  to  fondle  the  baby,  and  to  tell 
Bertha  how  sorry  they  were  to  hear  that  Peter  was 
wounded. 

"But  you  must  be  awful  proud,  Bertha,  to  have  him 
get  all  them  crosses  and  everything!  Nat  just  talks 
about  him  all  the  time." 

Bertha  hoped  he  wouldn't  talk  of  Peter  when  he  came 
in.  And  he  didn't.  He  played  with  the  baby;  was 
kind  and  cordial  to  her.  It  was  only  as  she  was  going 
that  he  said:  "We  are  very  proud  of  the  captain." 

As  Peter  grew  stronger  he  practised  his  French  and 
at  the  same  time  cheered  a  blinded  poilu  next  to  him. 
He,  Peter,  was  to  be  transferred  as  soon  as  possible.  The 
shack  was  too  near  the  line  of  battle  and  too  badly 
needed  for  emergency  cases  to  long  shelter  those  able 
to  be  moved. 

Madeline  Dawson's  valiant  spirit  would  not  give 
way,  but  each  day,  as  the  parting  from  Peter  grew 
more  certain,  she  grew  paler,  more  ethereal. 

"What  am  I  going  to  do?"  she.  whispered  to  herself 
as  she  thought  of  her  loneliness  after  he  would  be  gone. 
"What  shall  I  do?" 

She  had  lived  for  days  in  the  intimacy  of  patient  and 
nurse,  and  had  kept  a  strong  grip  upon  her  emotions. 
But  the  thought  of  parting  half  unnerved  her.  Parting 
forever,  she  felt,  if  he  went  without  speaking. 

Madeline  Dawson,  like  Peter,  was  a  soldier  under 
orders.  The  Red  Cross  badge  meant  all  it  implied  to  her 
— service.  But  for  the  moment  the  woman  in  her  was 
uppermost.  She  loved  Peter  Moore.  Even  in  the  midst 
of  the  suffering  of  war  it  had  brought  a  great  joy,  a 

271 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

great  happiness  to  her,  and  now  because  of  that  love  she 
was  pierced  by  a  great  sorrow,  an  intense  longing.  Was 
this  going  to  be  the  end  of  her  romance — the  only  one 
that  had  come  to  her?  Her  pride  bade  her  hide  her 
feelings,  just  as  it  had  made  her  keep  silent.  But  had 
Peter  been  more  observing,  more  conscious  of  his  own 
attractive  personality,  he  must  have  noticed  the  sadness 
in  her  eyes  when  her  lips  smiled  or  she  bandied  some  gay 
jest  with  one  of  her  "babies." 

It  was  her  hour  of  weakness.  She  must  face  it,  and 
she  must  conquer. 

"A  pretty  soldier  I  would  be  if  I  allowed  myself  to 
go  to  pieces  when  I  am  so  needed,"  she  would  say  to 
herself  as  she  soothed  or  bandaged  some  badly  wounded 
soldier  brought  in  from  the  trenches. 

It  was  in  the  privacy  of  her  little  room  that  her 
sorrow  grew  almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  It  hurt 
her  pride  to  think  she  had  given  her  love  unasked — 
perhaps  unwanted — she  once  thought  bitterly.  Yet, 
some  way  there  clung  the  memory  of  the  light  in  Peter 's 
eyes;  the  longing  they  had  expressed. 

' '  What  kind  of  a  night  did  you  have  ? ' '  she  asked  him. 
He  was  to  be  transferred  that  afternoon.  All  night 
Madeline  had  sat  by  her  small  window  gazing  out  with 
unseeing  eyes,  trying  to  attune  her  soul  to  the  struggle 
of  the  parting.  Just  as  day  broke  she  dropped  on  her 
knees  by  the  side  of  the  unrumpled  iron  cot  and  prayed 
for  strength  to  do  her  duty  regardless  of  self.  Then 
she  rose,  and  after  bathing  her  face  she  changed  into  a 
fresh  uniform  and  went  back  to  the  shack,  and — to 
Peter. 

272 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

' '  Fine !  I  slept  all  through  without  waking  once, ' '  he 
told  her  with  a  smile. 

' '  You  know  you  are  to  be  transferred  to-day  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes,  the  doctor  told  me. ' ' 

' '  Then  you  will  go  home  for  a  rest  ? ' ' 

' '  Yes.  They  seem  to  think  it  best.  And  a  good  soldier 
obeys  orders,"  he  returned.  "I  shall  miss  you,  Miss 
Dawson.  I  can't  thank  you  for  the  care  you  have  given 
me,  so  I  am  not  going  to  try. ' ' 

' '  Don 't ! "  she  said,  her  lip  quivering.  ' '  I  have  loved 
to  do  for  you, ' '  she  added,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

Suddenly  Peter  knew.  Madeline  Dawson  loved  him. 
Such  an  onrush  of  joy  swept  over  him  that  he  closed  his 
eyes  that  she  should  not  see.  Then  he  looked  at  her 
longingly,  sadly.  Something  must  be  done.  Once  more 
he  had  a  duty  to  perform ;  one  that  made  his  very  soul 
quake.  To  know  that  she,  the  English  angel,  loved  him 
was,  in  view  of  his  own  feeling  for  her,  a  joy  so  intense 
he  scarcely  could  bear  it.  And  yet  he  must  destroy  her 
love,  his  own  joy. 

' '  Can  you  sit  with  me  a  moment  ?  "  he  asked  gently. 

"Certainly."  She  realized  what  she  had  done;  that 
by  her  whispered  remark  she  had  shown  something  of 
her  feeling  for  him  to  Peter.  Her  pale  face  was  suf- 
fused with  blushes  as  she  drew  a  chair  close  to  the 
cot. 

"Miss  Dawson,  Madeline,  I  want  to  tell  you  a  story; 
rather  a  sad  little  story,  too.  Will  you  listen?"  Then 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  Peter  told  of  the  country 
boy  who,  because  he  felt  it  was  his  duty,  had  enlisted 
with  the  British  long  before  his  own  country  saw  the 

273 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

need  of  joining  the  war.  How  a  country  girl  had  gone 
to  New  York  so  as  to  be  near  him ;  and  that  while  not 
caring  at  all  for  him  had  wanted  to  marry  him  so  that 
she  might  remain  in  New  York. 

Without  blaming  Bertha  in  the  least  he  told  of  the 
hasty  marriage ;  of  his  departure  for  the  front  immedi- 
ately. Of  his  return  and  of  the  baby.  Of  Bertha's  de- 
termination to  live  in  New  York,  and  her  work  in  the 
shop  he  said  little.  He  never  mentioned  his  own  dis- 
appointment in  his  wife  nor  her  connection  with  Bates 
Freeman.  Yet  dimly  Madeline  realized  that  his  mar- 
riage had  been  a  terrible  disillusion ;  and  long  after  she 
recalled  that  the  girl  Bates  Freeman,  the  injured  avia- 
tor, called  for  so  constantly  in  his  delirium  was  named 
"Bertha,"  and  that  after  Peter  had  talked  with  him 
how  pale  and  distraught  he  had  been. 

Now  Madeline  thought  only  of  Peter.  Even  her  own 
sorrow  was  forgotten  in  her  desire  to  comfort  him.  She 
was  all  woman,  longing,  woman-like,  to  help  the  man 
she  loved.  She  noted  the  pain  in  his  eyes,  the  tones  of 
his  voice.  And  laying  her  hand  over  his  she  said  very 
quietly : 

"Never  mind,  Peter.  It  will  be  easier  now  that  I 
know." 

"You  mean  that  you  are  glad  that  I — care  for  you? 
Oh,  you  dear  girl. "  Two  great  tears  rolled  down  Peter's 
cheeks. 

"Yes,  Peter.  A  girl  doesn't  like  to  think  she  has 
given  herself  unwanted."  She  smiled  bravely  into  his 
eyes.  "It  will  be  easier  now  that  I  know.  Good-bye, 
Peter.  I  shan't  see  you  again."  Leaning  over  him 

274 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Madeline  pressed  a  soft  kiss  upon  his  forehead,  and  was 
gone. 

Peter  covered  his  eyes  with'  his  hand  and  groaned. 

"What's  the  matter,  Captain,  in  pain?"  one  of  the 
wounded  asked. 

"Yes."  Peter  answered  so  shortly  the  other  raised 
himself  on  his  elbow  to  look  over  at  him.  Something 
must  be  very  bad  for  the  brave  American  captain  to 
groan  like  that.  The  nurse  should  be  there  to  look  after 
him.  But  as  Peter  neither  said  anything  more,  nor 
repeated  the  groan,  he  once  more  lay  down;  this  time 
moaning  himself  because  of  the  pain  caused  by  changing 
his  position. 

Before  they  came  for  Peter  he  asked  for  pencil  and 
paper. 

' '  Dear  English  Angel : "  he  wrote.  ' '  You  have  indeed 
proved  an  angel  to  me.  There  is  nothing  to  be  added  to 
that  save  that  I  shall  always  love  you,  always  hope  for 
your  happiness.  Don't  let  me  sadden  you,  or  spoil 
your  life.  That  would  be  harder  to  bear  than  the  pain 
of  Hun  bullets.  Some  day  I  hope  to  hear  that  you  are 
as  happy  as  a  woman  such  as  you  deserves  to  be.  I  know 
that  you,  like  my  mother,  'understand,'  so  there  is  no 
need  for  me  to  say  more.  Yet  I  couldn't  leave  without 
saying  good-bye  and  telling  you  that  the  greatest  wish 
I  have  on  earth  is — next  to  the  freedom  of  my  country — 
that  you  may  be  happy.  PETER." 

That  was  all,  yet  it  brought,  if  not  happiness,  a  cer- 
tain peace  to  Madeline  Dawson.  That  Peter  had  said 
she  was  like  his  mother  whom  he  so  dearly  loved;  that 
she  also  "understood"  was  balm  to  her  sore  spirit.  And 

275 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

although  in  the  days  that  followed  her  love  often  threat- 
ened to  overwhelm  her  brave  soul  she  steadfastly  refused 
to  give  way  to  hei*  grief  and  went  about  her  work  as 
usual.  If  anything,  she  was  more  intent  upon  making 
her  "babies"  happy  and  comfortable;  more  anxious  to 
cheer  them  up  than  before. 

Dead,  forgotten  words  of  Peter's  rose  lambent  in  her 
memory.  She  was  blind  to  think  he  did  not  care 
for  her.  It  was  his  duty  to  keep  still;  to  hide  that 
love,  because  he  was  bound  to  another  woman,  until  he 
could  bring  comfort  to  her  by  telling  it.  How  little  he 
had  told,  after  all;  yet  how  much.  Madeline  read 
between  the  lines,  and  had  visioned  clearly  the  anguish 
that  must  have  been  Peter's  when  he  found  he  was 
irrevocably  tied  to  a  soulless  creature  like  Bertha. 

Professional  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  Madeline  at- 
tended to  her  duties  with  her  usual  care,  the  while  her 
thoughts  ran  on  what  Peter  had  told  her,  and  on  Bates 
Freeman.  Could  it  be  that  the  Bertha  the  young  aviator 
called  for  so  insistently  and  Bertha,  Peter's  wife,  were 
the  same?  It  would  explain  much  in  Peter's  actions  in 
that  week  the  aviator  lay  dying,  when  she  thought  be- 
cause of  his  impassibility  Peter  did  not  care  for  her. 
But  how  terrible  for  Peter.  It  was  intolerable. 

And  Peter. 

He  lay  all  day  in  his  steamer  chair  on  a  vessel  bound 
for  "An  Atlantic  Port"  and  thought  and  thought  and 
thought.  What  a  mess  life  was — how  we  took  it  in  our 
hands  and  spoiled  it.  How  dreadfully  he  had  muddled 
his  own  life.  He  hoped  and  prayed  he  might  not  have 
also  spoiled  Madeline's — that  would  be  hard  to  bear. 

276 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

As  he  drew  nearer  home  his  prayers  became  more 
frequent  and  more  fervent.  His  bodily  weakness  made 
for  weakness  of  spirit;  and  that  he  must  combat.  The 
thought  of  Bertha,  the  money  Bates  Freeman  had  willed 
to  her  was  ashes  in  his  mouth.  He  was  too  weak  yet 
to  plan  clearly.  He  knew  nothing  of  law.  He  would 
wait  until  he  was  strong  enough,  then  he  would  consult 
a  lawyer.  He  would  have  time.  For  he  knew  the  will 
had  been  sent  by  the  very  steamer  on  which  he  was  a 
passenger.  And  the  slowness  of  the  law  was  proverbial. 

Often,  during  night  he  lay  wide-eyed,  thinking  of 
Madeline  Dawson.  But  in  the  daytime  he  persist- 
ently and  determinedly  put  her  from  his  thoughts.  Her 
unchanging  sweetness  of  character,  her  intrepid  spirit, 
her  womanly  understanding,  made  the  contrast  between 
what  he  had  left  and  what  he  had  to  meet  too  painful. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning  in  the  early  spring  when 
Peter  disembarked  at  "An  Atlantic  Port"  and  made  his 
way  to  the  new  address  Bertha  had  given  him  in  her 
letter;  the  flat  she  had  taken  when  she  wished  to  em- 
phasize her  independence,  and  which  he  imagined  had 
been  taken  because  of  Bates  Freeman,  the  man  who 
loved  her. 


277 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

IT  was  a  bruised,  broken,  emaciated  Peter  that  Bertha 
found  lying  on  the  couch  in  the  sitting-room  when  she 
came  in  from  the  shop.  Yet  a  dauntless  soul  looked  out 
from  the  pain-ridden  eyes. 

' '  I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  Peter, ' '  she  said  stumblingly  as 
she  perfunctorily  kissed  him.  "You  got  pretty  badly 
hurt  this  time,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  pretty  badly — this  time,"  he  answered,  but  he 
had  no  reference  to  his  wounds. 

"Where's  Clarence?  Have  you  seen  him?"  Bertha 
wanted  to  make  conversation,  and  really  she  didn  't  know 
what  to  say  to  that  quiet,  pain-stricken  man  lying  on 
the  couch.  His  eyes  were  closed  and,  careless  as  she 
was,  she  shuddered  as  she  noted  the  change  in  him 
which  his  illness  and  his  wounds  had  wrought. 

"Yes,  Ellen  took  him  away.  She  said  it  was  his  bed- 
time." 

Bertha  noted  the  effort  it  was  for  Peter  to  talk  and 
left  him  to  lay  aside  her  street  clothes.  When  she  re- 
turned, after  lingering,  he  was  asleep. 

She  stood  and  looked  down  at  his  thin,  pain-furrowed 
face  and  contrasted  it  with  the  gay,  laughing  one  of 
Bates  Freeman,  as  she  had  last  seen  him.  She  could  do 
nothing,  say  nothing.  Bates  was  dead.  Once  more  the 

278 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

realization  that  she  had  loved  the  dead  man  and  that  she 
was  bound  to  Peter  rushed  over  her.  She  was  a  prisoner 
again,  fettered,  bound  by  chains  she  had  put  on  herself. 
Her  glance  traveled  over  the  sleeping  man,  she  recog- 
nizing the  great  change,  almost  indefinable  metamorpho- 
sis in  him,  since  she  last  saw  him. 

When  he  wakened  she  told  him  dinner  was  ready. 
He  insisted  upon  going  to  the  table  with  her.  Then  she 
noted  a  certain  melancholy  in  his  figure,  erect  and  com- 
manding as  it  was.  The  certainty  that  something  be- 
sides physical  pain  had  come  to  Peter  grew  as  she  ob- 
served his  bearing.  She  found  a  strange  sadness,  a  hope- 
lessness in  his  eyes.  A  shadow  appeared  to  brood  over 
his  spirit,  usually  so  calm. 

A  while  before  Bertha  would  have  seen  none  of  these 
things.  But  her  contact  with  people,  her  grief  for  Bates 
Freeman  had  made  her  more  observing.  She  noted, 
while  she  could  not  explain  nor  even  attempt  to. 

She  had  worked  with  all  the  deftness,  all  the  diplo- 
macy of  which  she  was  capable  to  change  her  life,  and 
this  was  the  end  of  it  all.  She  was  Mrs.  Peter  Moore, 
wife  of  the  stern,  tired-looking  soldier  who  sat  opposite 
her  and  ate  scarcely  anything,  but  whose  eyes  bored  into 
hers  in  a  way  that  made  her  terribly  uncomfortable. 

" Shall  I  stay  home  with  you,  Peter?"  she  asked  the 
next  morning;  she  really  was  not  hard-hearted,  and  his 
evident  suffering  appealed  to  her  kinder  instincts. 

"No,  it  isn't  necessary.    I'll  have  the  boy." 

"Don't  let  him  tire  you,"  she  returned,  relieved.  An 
entire  day  with  the  invalid  was  more  than  she  could 
contemplate  with  equanimity. 

279 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"He  won't."  Peter  turned  restlessly  away  without 
saying  more. 

All  day  he  kept  the  boy  with  him.  He  realized  that 
he  was  not  yet  able  to  attend  to  any  business,  yet  the 
thought  of  Bates  Freeman's  will  never  left  him.  There 
was  a  large  picture  of  Bates,  framed  beautifully  in 
hammered  silver,  on  Bertha 's  dressing  table.  Evidently 
she  had  forgotten  to  remove  it.  Peter  looked  long  at 
the  pictured  face.  It  was  like,  yet  so  unlike  that  other 
face  he  had  looked  into  when  he  promised  to  bury  Ber- 
tha's picture  with  the  young  aviator.  This  one  was  the 
happy,  care-free  face  of  the  pampered  son  of  wealth; 
the  other  had  been  the  earnest,  thoughtful  face  of  the 
man  who  had  given  his  life  for  his  country  and  in  doing 
it  had  found  his  own  soul. 

The  baby,  he  was  nothing  more  although  he  had  just 
commenced  to  prattle  his  baby  words,  seemed  to  under- 
stand that  Peter  could  not  play  with  him  and  was  con- 
tent to  sit  on  a  tiny  stool  by  the  couch  and  hold  his 
father's  finger  for  long  spaces  of  time.  With  much 
painstaking  Peter  had  taught  him  to  call  him  "dad"  or 
something  that  sounded  like  it.  And  it  soothed  him  to 
hear  the  lisping  tones  and  to  feel  the  tiny  hand  in  his 
own. 

"He's  very  like  you,  sir,"  Ellen,  the  housekeeper, 
said  as  she  dusted  the  rooms,  prolonging  the  task  so 
that  she  might  watch  this  man  who  was  husband  of  her 
mistress,  but  who  seemed  to  mean  so  little  to  her  that 
she  could  go,  indifferently  to  the  shop  as  usual.  ' '  Every- 
body says  so.  That  is,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robinson,  and  Mrs. 
Moore's  mother  when  she  was  here,  said  he  was  the  per- 

280 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

feet  image  of  you  at  his  age."  Finding  he  listened, 
Ellen  had  grown  loquacious. 

It  rather  pleased  Peter  that  the  baby  should  resemble 
him.  And  once  more  he  thanked  God  under  his  breath 
that  a  son  was  born  to  him  and  not  a  daughter.  If  the 
boy  lived  he  would  be  able  to  take  him  in  charge,  but 
a  girl — he  wouldn't  have  known  how  to  interfere.  Ber- 
tha would  have  had  her  own  way  with  a  girl. 

For  several  days  Peter  remained  at  the  apartment, 
waited  upon  by  Ellen.  He  felt  terribly  inert,  incapable 
of  exertion.  But  finally  he  commenced  to  go  out  a  little. 
Then  as  he  grew  stronger  he  would  take  little  Clarence 
in  his  gocart  and  sit  on  a  bench  in  the  park,  breathing 
in  the  fresh  air  and  gaining  strength.  The  park  was 
very  near  the  apartment  and  he  could  push  the  little 
gocart  with  his  left  hand.  His  right  arm  was  still  in  a 
sling. 

People  looked  with  sympathy  and  pity  at  the  soldier 
and  the  baby ;  but  there  was  something  in  the  detached 
look  on  Peter's  face  that  kept  them  from  speaking  to 
him.  One  young  girl  who  passed,  inclined  to  be  senti- 
mental, said  to  her  companion : 

''He  looks  as  if  he  had  some  sorrow  too  deep  for 
words, ' '  coming  more  nearly  to  the  truth  than  her  care- 
less speech  would  indicate. 

Now  that  Peter  was  better,  he  planned  to  see  a  lawyer. 
To  find  out  exactly  how  Bertha  stood  with  regard  to  the 
bequest  and  satisfy  himself  as  to  the  legality  of  it  before 
Bertha  knew  it. 

He  dreaded  the  unpleasantness  he  knew  was  unavoid- 
able, yet  Peter  Moore  never  yet  had  sidestepped  a  duty 

281 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

because  it  was,  or  might  be,  unpleasant.  That  wasn  't  his 
way. 

Then,  too,  Peter  wanted  to  go  home,  to  Haynes- 
ville. 

"I  shall  get  well  more  quickly  back  there  in  the 
country,"  he  said  to  Bertha,  "and  I — should  like,"  he 
hesitated,  "to  take  Clarence  with  me.  Of  course — if 
you  don't  object.  Perhaps  you  would  go,  too,  Bertha. 
A  rest  would  do  you  good. ' ' 

"No,  thank  you!  Haynesville  and  I  haven't  any  love 
for  each  other.  Take  the  baby,  if  you  like,  but  he'll  be 
lots  of  trouble  on  the  train."  She  well  knew  the  little 
one  would  be  no  trouble  after  they  reached  Haynesville. 
Two  doting  grandmothers  would  see  to  that. 

"I  won't  mind." 

So  it  was  settled  that  Clarence  was  to  go  home  with 
his  father,  and  Ellen  was  told  to  have  everything  in 
readiness  the  last  of  the  week. 

"Be  sure  his  clothes  are  well  laundered,"  Bertha  told 
her.  "People  in  country  towns  talk  a  lot." 

"They'll  have  nothing  to  talk  about  in  that  respect," 
Ellen  had  returned  with  a  sniff.  "It  will  be  mighty 
lonesome  here  without  the  baby,  though.  How  long  will 
they  stay?" 

' '  Oh,  not  long !  Captain  Moore  is  talking  already  of 
going  back  to  fight  again. ' ' 

' '  He  is  sure  a  brave  man.  I  should  think  he  would  be 
glad  to  stay  home  and  let  the  rest  do  the  fighting.  He 's 
done  his  duty.  He's  pretty  badly  hurt.  I  doubt  if  they 
let  him  go  back  very  soon. ' ' 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  thinks  he'll  get  well  quick 

282 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

in  the  country."  Then,  "Perhaps  he  will — I  don't 
know."  Some  way  Bertha  could  not  feel  much  interest 
in  what  happened. 

Peter  had  found  a  lawyer  with  whose  name  he  was 
familiar.  A  man  known  to  be  at  the  head  of  his  pro- 
fession. It  might  cost  him  a  pretty  big  fee  to  consult 
him,  but  he  wanted  to  be  sure. 

He  had  made  the  appointment  over  the  tele- 
phone. 

Peter  was  ushered  into  the  lawyer's  presence;  his 
mind  intent  upon  his  errand.  He  failed  to  see  the  look 
of  surprise,  followed  by  one  of  interest  on  the  face  of 
the  man  he  had  come  to  consult. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Captain  Moore?"  he  asked, 
looking  closely  at  the  strong  but  furrowed  face  of  his 
caller. 

Peter  told  his  errand.  He  softened  none  of  the  de- 
tails and  while  not  blaming  Bertha  more  than  he  could 
help  told  the  story  as  Bates  had  told  it  to  him ;  adding 
the  additional  particulars  he  had  picked  up  from  Ber- 
tha's last  letter  to  the  aviator. 

"You  say  he  didn't  know  she  was  married?"  Then, 
without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "I  knew  of  this  Bates 
Freeman,  a  wild  sort  of  a  boy,  well  known  on  the  Great 
White  Way.  But  I  do  not  recall  ever  hearing  anything 
really  bad  about  him.  He  was  a  spender  and  I  imagine 
an  easy  mark  for  a  lot  of  hangers-on." 

Peter  quietly  told  the  lawyer  of  Bates  as  he  knew 
him.  Of  the  brave  aviator  who  gave  his  life  gladly, 
willingly,  to  help  his  country.  Of  the  calm  way  in  which 
he  had  met  death,  anxious  only  that  the  girl  whom  he 

283 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

had  declared  had  been  "good,"  should  not  be  left  in 
want  because  he  had  not  returned  to  marry  her. 

The  lawyer  listened  carefully.  He  thought  to  him- 
self that  never  had  he  seen  a  man  who  interested  him  as 
did  this  wounded  captain.  What  kind  of  a  woman 
could  this  Bertha  be,  he  wondered,  to  so  spoil  his  life. 

"It  would  be  up  to  Mrs.  Bertha  Moore  to  satisfy  the 
court  that  she  is  the  identical  person  named  in  the  will 
and  then  take  the  money, ' '  he  said  slowly,  watching  the 
captain's  face.  "Of  course,  this  is  an  off-hand  opinion. 
Should  the  case  come  to  trial,  Bertha,  either  as  'Miss* 
or  'Mrs.'  might  tell  things  that  would  alter  this  opinion. 
However,  I  think  you  are  safe  to  consider  what  I  have 
told  you  as  all  that  will  be  necessary  for  your  wife  to 
claim  the  money.  I  understood  you  to  say  'millions.'  ' 

Peter  bowed  and  a  shamed  flush  covered  his  face  as 
he  thanked  the  lawyer  for  his  advice  and  handed  him  his 
fee.  The  hard  part  was  to  be  faced.  That  very  night 
he  would  talk  with  Bertha. 

"Of  course,  Mrs.  Moore  cannot  take  that  money,"  he 
had  said  to  the  lawyer.  The  flush  gone  and  a  stern,  un- 
compromising paleness  in  its  place. 

"Of  course  not!"  the  lawyer  said,  then  rose  and 
grasped  Peter's  hand.  He  was  not  disappointed  in  the 
kind  of  man  he  was  after  all. 

Whatever  his  sorrow,  Peter  must  have  strength  for 
what  he  had  to  do,  he  thought  as  he  left  the  lawyer's 
office.  A  supreme  effort  must  be  made  to  keep  calm,  to 
hold  his  brain  unshrouded. 

Deep  natures  like  Peter's  suffer  most  keenly.  Shallow 
pools  dry  up  and  leave  no  sign,  while  the  deeper  one 

284 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

leaves  a  running  trace  of  its  presence  on  the  rocky  bed. 
And  Peter  had  suffered,  was  still  suffering,  both  men- 
tally and  physically.  His  soul,  too,  was  weary  within 
him.  He  pressed  his  head  for  a  moment  before  he  took 
the  lift  for  the  noisy  street  and  breathed  a  silent  prayer 
for  courage. 

He  rested  until  Bertha  came  in. 

"I  have  something  to  tell  you,  Bertha,"  he  said  when 
they  had  finished  dinner  and  the  baby  was  asleep. 
"Something  to  tell  and  a  great  deal  to  talk  over  with 
you. ' ' 

' '  Don 't  talk  in  that  solemn  tone  or  I  shall  run  away, ' ' 
she  replied,  wondering  what  he  had  to  talk  over  with 
her.  Haynesville,  probably,  she  thought. 

' '  I  knew  Bates  Freeman, ' '  he  began  without  preamble, 
as  was  his  way.  "I  knew  him  and  was  with  him  when 
he  died." 

He  waited.  But  Bertha  could  only  stare  at  him,  with 
big  frightened  eyes  in  a  face  suddenly  turned  pale. 

"He  told  me  about — you,"  he  went  on  slowly,  seeing 
he  was  to  get  no  response.  ' '  He  said  you  were  '  Miss 
Bertha  Moore,'  and  that  you  were  to  marry  him  when 
he  came  back.  He  told  me  that  he  had  loved  you." 
Peter  looked  at  Bertha  searchingly  as  if  he  would  pry 
from  her  the  reason  of  the  aviator 's  love  for  her ;  brave, 
true  man  as  he  had  known  him.  "He  made  me  read 
your  letter  aloud  to  him.  He  was  dying  and  couldn't 
see  to  read."  Though  the  words  were  apologetic,  there 
was  no  apology  in  Peter's  tone.  "It  sounded  as  if  you 
loved  him.  He  told  me  you  were  true  and  good.  He 
believed  in  you.  How  he  could,  knowing  you  as  well  as 

285 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

he  did,  I  cannot  understand.  Perhaps  he  changed  after 
he  came  'over  there.'  Most  men  do.  He  might  have 
understood  you  if  he  had  lived;  might  have  seen  how 
false  you  were  to  everyone,  even  to  yourself." 

Peter  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  Bertha's  face  as  he 
talked,  although  she  tried  to  turn  so  that  he  could 
not  watch  her  so  keenly.  She  could  scarcely  understand 
this  awful  thing  he  was  telling  her.  It  couldn't  be  pos- 
sible that  he  knew  she  had  passed  herself  off  as  unmar- 
ried ;  he  was  only  guessing  at  it.  Bates  must  have  been 
out  of  his  head  to  talk  to  Peter. 

Peter  read  what  was  going  on  in  her  mind.  ' '  Freeman 
was  conscious ;  he  knew  what  he  was  saying.  He  showed 
me  your  picture.  He  asked  that  it  be  buried  with  him. 
It  was.  I  hope  it  won't  weigh  him  down  so  that  he 
will  not  hear  the  trumpet  call  to  resurrection.  He  was 
a  brave  man,  a  good  soldier.  He  deserves  his  reward." 

' '  I  don 't  believe  you !  I  don 't  believe  Bates  ever  talked 
to  you  of  me!  He  wasn't  that  kind."  Bertha  at 
last  found  her  tongue  and  the  words  tumbled  over  eacK 
other.  "He  wasn't  that  kind,  I  tell  you!"  she  repeated 
in  a  kind  of  mad  fury.  "You  heard  he  was  dying  and 
just  made  him  talk  when  he  didn't  know  what  he  was 
saying!" 

"Do  you  deny  that  he  thought  you  a  single  woman?" 
The  question  was  asked  sternly.  Bertha's  tirade  had 
steeled  Peter  to  hardness. 

"No!  "Why  should  I  deny  it?  You  married  me  and 
left  me  on  the  street,  as  if  I  didn  't  amount  to  as  much  as 
the  Germans  you  went  to  fight.  You  left  me  for  them. 
When  I  got  a  job  they  said  it  was  better  not  to  be 

286 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

'Mrs.,'  that  I  could  get  more  money.  I  don't  see  any- 
thing so  very  wicked  in  that!  If  you  had  stayed  with 
me  I  shouldn't  have  had  to  do  things,"  she  finished, 
weakly  throwing  the  blame  on  him ;  knowing  all  the  time 
she  had  not  wanted  him  to  stay. 

"No,  Bertha,  I  didn't  marry  you.  You  married  me. 
I  let  you  decide  it  because  I  thought  you  loved  me.  I 
know  now  that  you  never  did,  but  what  I  don't  know  is 
why  you  wanted  to  marry  me. ' ' 

"You  don't!  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  It  won't  take  long. 
I  wanted  to  get  out  of  Haynesville,  and  that  was  the  only 
way.  If  I  could  have  stayed  in  New  York  without  mar- 
rying you  I  never  would  have  thought  of  doing  it. ' ' 

"Thank  you  for  your  frankness,  Bertha.  It  makes 
things  easier.  Now,  Bates  Freeman  was  a  very  rich 
man,  as  you  probably  know.  When  he  died  he  made  a 
will.  It  is  a  perfectly  good  will,  witnessed  by  people 
who  were  with  him  when  he  died.  He  left  all  he  had  to 
'Miss  Bertha  Moore,'  except  a  legacy  of  $200,000  to  the 
aviation  corps.  Now,  Bertha,  I  want  to  know  what  you 
intend  to  do  about  it.  I'll  hear  what  you  have  to  say 
before  we  talk  any  more." 

"Left — it — all — to — me!"  She  could  scarcely  credit 
her  hearing.  ' '  Left  all ! " 

"Yes,  he  loved  you.  He  thought  you  were  free  to 
accept  it.  He  never  dreamed,  poor  fellow,  that  he  was 
insulting  another  man's  wife — the  man  to  whom  he  told 
his  story." 

"You  didn't  let  him  know?  You  didn't  tell  him? — 
Oh,  Peter ! ' '  The  tears  poured  down  Bertha 's  face  like 
rain. 

287 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

NOTWITHSTANDING  a  certain  softness  in  Peter,  he  could 
be  stern  and  uncompromising;  as  his  men  had  found 
out  whenever  they  were  guilty  of  a  breach  of  discipline. 
And  Bertha  also  was  now  to  feel  the  effect  of  his  inex- 
orableness. 

Peter  was  surprised  at  her  tears,  and  spoke  more 
gently : 

"Recriminations  are  of  no  use  now.  What  has  been 
done  cannot  be  undone.  Freeman  is  dead.  But  you 
are  alive,  and  are  the  mother  of  my  boy.  Nothing  can 
alter  that.  Now  I  want  an  answer  to  my  question. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  about  that  will?" 

With  desperate  effort  Bertha  dried  her  tears.  She 
was  not  the  weepy  kind  as  a  rule.  She  waited  in  silence 
for  a  bit,  and  Peter  waited  in  silence  also,  his  eyes  never 
leaving  her  face.  It  was  as  if  he  were  trying  to  probe 
the  struggle  going  on  within  her.  Finally  she  spoke : 

"What  is  there  to  do,  only  to  take  the  money  he  left 
me  ?  If  he  willed  it  to  me,  it  is  mine. ' '  Her  voice  was 
heavy,  dull.  She  was  not  thinking  of  the  money,  but 
of  Bates,  Peter  realized. 

"No,  he  did  not  will  it  to  you,  another  man's  wife. 
He  willed  it  to  a  girl  he  loved,  a  girl  who  only  existed 
in  his  mind.  A  girl  whom  he  dreamed  of  as  good  and 

288 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

true;  not  a  married  woman  who  was  living  and  acting 
a  lie.  I  wonder "  His  thought  stopped  speech. 

"You  wonder  what?" 

"I  wonder  what  you  would  have  done  with  the  baby 
had  he  come  to  you  before  Freeman  went  away."  So 
slowly  had  Peter  spoken  that  each  word  dropped  from 
his  lips  with  a  distinctness,  a  meaning,  that,  callous  as 
she  was,  made  Bertha  shiver  and  cover  her  face.  "What 
would  you  have  done  if  that  had  happened  ?  Repudiated 
the  child  as  you  have  me  ? ' ' 

"Why  do  you  ask  such  questions?  What's  the  use 
trying  to  make  things  worse  than  they  are?" 

"No  use.  Forgive  me,  Bertha.  I  believe  you  love 
the  boy,  even  though  you  may  not  have  welcomed  his 
coming.  I  have  watched  you,  and  yes — you  love  him. 
But  we  are  beside  the  question.  I  want  an  answer — 
what  do  you  intend  to  do  about  this  money?" 

"I  intend  to  keep  it.  Bates  wanted  me  to  have  it." 
For  the  first  time  visions  of  what  she  could  do,  what 
become  with  all  that  money  at  her  disposal,  flitted  across 
Bertha's  mind  and  found  a  lodgment. 

"No,  you  are  mistaken,  as  I  told  you."  Weariness 
was  in  Peter's  voice.  "Freeman  did  not  want  you  to 
have  it.  He  would  have  turned  from  you  in  loathing 
had  he  known  you  as  you  are.  The  man  was  clean  and 
straight.  I  would  stake  my  life  upon  it.  He  wanted 
a  girl  he  thought  you  were  to  have  that  money." 

"But  no  one  can  take  it  away  from  me.  You  said  so 
yourself. ' ' 

"No,  no  one  can  compel  you  to  give  it  up.  I  saw  a 
lawyer  and  he  says  you  can  claim  it.  All  you  have  to 

289 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

do  is  to  prove  that  you  are  the  woman,  who,  while  legally 
married  to  a  man  who  was  fighting  for  his  country, 
passed  herself  off  as  single  and  promised  to  marry  Free- 
man." 

"Will  I  have  to  do  that?"  wonder  in  her  voice,  and  a 
little  fear. 

"That  and  more — much  more  if  you  insist  upon  tak- 
ing that  money." 

"I  don't  know  what  you  mean.  Why  shouldn't  we 
take  his  money  when  he  wanted  me  to  have  it?  Just 
think  what  we  could  do  with  it." 

"Don't  you  dare  say  'we'!"  Peter  interrupted. 

"Well,  what  I  could  do  with  it.    The  baby." 

Peter  again  interrupted: 

"Don't  speak  of  him  either.  If  you  insist  upon  taking 
that  money  I  cannot  stop  you,  although  I  forbid  you  as 
my  wife  to  touch  it.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  can  do. 
I  never  have  believed  in  divorce ;  we  Moores  don 't.  But 
if  you  take  that  money  against  my  express  commands 
you  will  have  to  show  the  courts  that  you  are  fit  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  decent  man,  and  to  have  the  care  of  a 
baby." 

"You  mean " 

"I  mean  I  should  sue  for  a  divorce  and  the  care  of 
the  child.  Am  I  plain?  Do  you  understand?" 

Bertha  turned  white  as  chalk.  She,  too,  had  been 
brought  up  to  consider  divorce  as  the  court  of  last  re- 
sort— and  then  not  to  be  appealed  to  save  under  very 
exceptional,  almost  unheard-of  circumstances.  And  she 
loved  her  baby,  loved  him  since  Bates  had  died,  with  a 
fierceness  of  which  she  herself  was  unaware  until 

290 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Peter  spoke  of  taking  him  from  her.  And  Peter 
meant  it.  No  one  looking  at  his  stern,  set  face  would 
doubt  it.  There  was  no  yielding  in  those  compressed 
lips,  those  deep-set  eyes. 

"You— would  do  that?"  At  last  Bertha  found  her 
voice.  Her  lips  were  parched,  she  wet  them  with  her 
tongue  before  she  spoke.  Was  ever  a  woman  in  such  a 
position?  Lose  the  millions  Bates  had  wanted  her  to 
have,  or  her  baby. 

"Yes,  Bertha,  I  would  even  do  that  rather  than  have 
my  boy  brought  up  by  a  woman  who  would  do  what 
you  are  contemplating  doing."  Peter  spoke  more 
gently.  He  had  seen  the  stricken  look  in  Bertha's  eyes 
when  he  spoke  of  taking  little  Clarence  from  her;  the 
chalkiness  of  her  face.  As  he  had  said,  he  watched  her 
closely.  He  was  positive  she  loved  her  boy.  But — 
did  she  love  him  enough? 

"I'm  tired!  I  am  going  to  bed.  You  can  say  wha£ 
else  you  have  to  say  in  the  morning."  Bertha  flung  out 
of  the  room.  And  Peter  made  no  attempt  to  stop  her. 

In  the  morning  neither  spoke  of  the  subject.  Bertha 
looked  white  and  wan ;  and  Peter  more  hollow-eyed  than 
ever.  He  slept,  as  usual  on  the  couch  in  the  little  living- 
room,  and  had  heard  Bertha  moving  about  in  the  night, 
sleepless  as  was  he;  both  thinking  of  what  had  to  be 
faced. 

Little  Clarence  was  having  his  breakfast  when  Bertha 
was  ready  for  the  shop.  The  door  into  the  living-room 
was  slightly  open,  and  Peter  could  hear  quite  distinctly 
anything  that  was  said. 

"You  are  mine!  my  baby,"  he  heard  Bertha  say 

291 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

softly,  "mine!  mine!  I  can't  live  without  you.  I 
can't!"  The  door  closed  and  she  was  gone.  But  there 
was  that  in  her  tone  when  she  talked  to  her  child  that 
tugged  at  his  heart,  and  Peter  thought  more  kindly  of 
Bertha  than  he  had  since  Bates  Freeman  made  him 
his  confidant. 

"Perhaps  she  is  nearer  right  in  blaming  me  for  part 
of  all  this  than  I  have  thought,"  he  said  to  himself  as 
he  recalled  how  she  complained  that  after  he  mar- 
ried her  he  left  her  on  the  street.  "We  hardly 
knew  each  other  save  as  boy  and  girl  until  I  was  wounded 
and  came  back. ' '  He  went  on  thinking  of  the  short  two 
weeks  they  spent  together  the  first  time  he  was 
invalided  home. 

But  those  kinder  thoughts  of  Bertha,  his  willingness 
to  take  his  share  of  the  blame  for  what  had  occurred 
because  of  her  loneliness,  swerved  him  no  particle  from 
the  decision  he  had  made.  In  that  he  was  adamant. 

Peter  was  a  patient  man.  So  he  waited  once  more 
until  dinner  was  over  and  until  the  boy  was  asleep.  He 
noticed,  after  Bertha  left  in  the  morning  that  the 
picture  of  Bates  Freeman  had  disappeared  from  her 
dressing  table.  How  like  Bertha,  he  thought.  As  long 
as  she  wasn't  aware  of  Peter's  knowledge  she  kept 
the  other  man's  picture  openly  where  it  could  be  seen. 
But  as  soon  as  she  learned  that  Peter  knew  him  she  had 
hidden  it.  A  natural  act,  perhaps,  but  none  the  less  a 
part  of  Bertha's  character. 

"Now,  Bertha,  I  want  some  sort  of  an  answer.  I  am 
going  back  to  France  just  as  soon  as  the  doctors  will  let 
me.  My  vrork  over  there  is  not  done — not  until  this  war 

292 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

is  won,  or  I  have  'gone  west'  with  so  many  of  the  oth- 
ers. Before  I  go  back  this  thing  has  not  only  got  to  be 
decided,  but  finished.  Finished  forever." 

"When  are  you  going  to  Haynesville  ? "  Bertha  asked 
apropos  of  nothing  he  had  said. 

"Tomorrow.    Why?" 

"How  long  shall  you  stay?" 

"That  depends  entirely  upon  how  quickly  I  recuper- 
ate." He  said  nothing  of  his  longing  to  "go  back,"  of 
the  lure  of  the  soldier's  life  when  he  feels  his  work  un- 
finished. Bertha  never  had  understood.  She  would  not 
understand  now. 

"How  long  do  you  think  that  will  be?"  she  persisted. 

"Two  or  three  weeks,  possibly  a  month.  My  wounds 
are  healed.  I  only  have  to  get  my  strength  back — and 
the  use  of  my  arm." 

"Will  you  do  something  for  me,  Peter?"  Bertha's 
childishness  showed  itself  for  the  first  time. 

' '  What  do  you  want  me  to  do,  Bertha  ? ' '  His  tone  was 
gentle,  moved  by  the  wistful  tone  in  her  voice. 

"Give  me  until  you  come  back  to  decide  what  I  want 
to  do  ?  I  will  promise  not  to  take  the  money  or  do  any- 
thing about  it  while  you  are  gone.  Bates — his  lawyer 
was  at  the  shop  today.  I  told  him  I  was  going  away, 
to  get  rid  of  him,  and  that  I  would  come  to  his  office 
when  I  got  back.  He  thought  I  was  crazy,  I  guess,  by 
the  way  he  acted,  but  after  a  while  he  went  away  and 
took  a  lot  of  papers  he  brought  me  to  sign,  with  him. 
You  see,  Peter,  it  is  a  lot  of  money  and — I'm  tired.  I 
can't  seem  to  think  straight." 

"Will  you  come  with  us?" 

293 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"No,  I  shall  stay  here  quietly  with  Ellen.  I  told  them 
at  the  shop  I  was  going  to  take  my  vacation  now  instead 
of  later.  Please  do  as  I  ask." 

"Very  well.  But  do  not  bank  on  my  being  away  more 
than  two  weeks." 

It  was  typical  of  the  manner  in  which  Peter  impressed 
people  that  no  one  ever  tried  to  make  him  change  his 
mind  once  he  had  said  what  he  would  do.  Bertha,  like 
the  rest,  had  accepted  what  he  said  as  his  ultimatum. 
She  had  neither  coaxed  nor  tried  in  any  way  to  make 
him  change.  She  realized  it  would  be  useless. 

That  night  Peter  and  his  boy  left  for  his  boyhood 
home. 

Once  more  the  news  spread  that  Captain  Peter 
Moore  was  to  visit  Haynesville.  And  because  he  had  not 
sent  word  just  when  he  would  arrive,  the  townspeople, 
understanding  his  reserve,  yet  determined  to  honor  the 
captain,  made  ready  and  for  two  or  three  days  had 
religiously  met  every  train  with  the  town  band  and  a 
procession  of  imposing  size. 

So  when  Peter  and  his  young  son  alighted  from  the 
train  they  were  at  once  taken  possession  of  by  the  crowd 
and  were  escorted  to  the  Moore  home  with  great  eclat. 
Because  of  his  wounds  and  the  presence  of  the  young 
child  they  insisted  that  Peter  ride  in  the  village  hack 
with  old  Tom  Brooks  who  had  brushed  up  his  faded  uni- 
form in  honor  of  the  occasion.  Tom  shone  with  a 
sort  of  reflected  luster  ever  since  the  United  States 
entered  the  war.  He  was  the  only  one  who  agreed  with 
Peter  when  he  declared  that  "America  must  go  in ! "  and 

294 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

often  had  his  speech  been  recalled  when  he  said  that 
' '  Uncle  Sam  was  a  good  deal  like  a  lot  of  married  men — 
they  stand  a  heap,  but  when  they  do  turn  they  mean 
business. ' ' 

Peter's  embarrassment  was  forgotten  in  the  joy  this 
unexpected  welcome  gave  him.  In  a  way  it  eased  his 
sorely  tried  spirit.  Then,  too,  as  he  had  learned  over- 
seas to  be  more  companionable  with  his  men,  so  now  he 
was  more  gracious  toward  the  townspeople.  His  suavity 
delighted  them,  and  in  more  than  one  home  in  Haynes- 
ville  the  great  improvement  in  "Captain  Moore"  was 
the  subject  of  conversation. 

Not  one  of  them  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  calling 
him  "Peter."  That  would  be  not  only  lacking  in  re- 
spect to  him,  but  to  the  army  he  represented.  No,  he 
would  receive  full  honors  from  his  own  townspeople. 

Next  to  their  delight  at  having  Peter  was  that  of  his 
father  and  mother  over  little  Clarence.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Hunter  came  over  after  dinner  and  stayed  long  after 
the  boy  was  sound  asleep  in  the  little  crib  which  had 
been  Peter's,  and  which  his  father  had  brought  down 
from  the  attic  for  his  little  grandson.  And  while  they 
talked  in  softened  tones  in  the  semi-darkness,  Mrs.  Moore 
kept  one  foot  on  the  crib,  gently  rolling  it  back  and  forth 
as  she  had  so  often  done  for  the  tall  soldier  whose  hand 
she  held  while  they  talked. 

' '  Bertha  had  a  good  deal  to  do, ' '  was  all  the  explana- 
tion he  gave  of  her  remaining  at  home  instead  of  coming 
with  him  and  Clarence.  They  understood — or  thought 
they  did  and  asked  no  questions.  It  had  come  to  be  a 
settled  fact  in  their  minds  that  Bertha  would  not  visit 

295 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Haynesville,  that  she  had  forsworn  her  home  and  her 
childhood  friends.  So  they  did  not  sadden  themselves 
by  talking  of  her.  Having  the  boy  was  more  than  they 
had  dared  hope. 

It  was  very  late  when  they  separated  for  the  night,  but 
Peter  was  up  betimes  the  next  morning.  His  father  had 
hinted  at  a  surprise  for  him,  but  when  he  was  urged  to 
tell  what  it  was  would  only  smile  and  say : 

"Wait  and  see,  my  son." 

"I'll  walk  to  the  factory  with  you,  father,"  Peter 
said  as  they  rose  from  the  breakfast  table. 

' '  I  was  just  about  to  ask  you  to. ' ' 

They  talked  of  the  war,  its  probable  length.  Of  vital 
questions  which  had  appeared  in  connection  with  the 
German  onslaught  upon  other  countries,  and  Peter  was 
surprised  at  his  father's  knowledge.  Not  only  of  what 
had  been  done  and  what  would  have  to  be  done  to  win 
the  war,  but  at  his  familiarity  with  the  causes. 

Suddenly  Peter  halted.  Now  he  had  no  need  to  ask 
his  father  what  the  surprise  he  had  hinted  at  was.  There 
it  lay  spread  out  before  him.  In  place  of  the  small  fac- 
tory he  had  known  since  a  child  there  now  rose  an  im- 
posing group  of  buildings.  Men  and  boys  were  hurrying 
to  enter  the  gates  from  all  directions.  Smoke  poured 
from  the  chimneys.  Prosperity  fairly  belched  from  the 
place. 

"It  had  to  come,"  the  older  man  said,  placing  his 
hand  on  his  son's  shoulder.  "The  war  made  every  man 
who  was  too  old  to  fight  'over  there'  a  fighter  here.  The 
government  needed  our  output,  only  it  needed  it  quad- 
rupled. It  has  been  my  share,  Peter,  and  it's  clean,  my 

296 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

boy.  There  has  been  no  profiteering  here.  Only  a  fair 
price,  and  scarcely  that  after  the  men  are  paid  the  wages 
they  demand.  But  after  the  war  is  over  and  the  read- 
justment that  is  bound  to  come  is  here:  then  you  will 
take  it  over,  and  it  will  be  my  legacy  to  you — a  legacy 
unbesmirched  by  one  breath  of  scandal." 

Peter  was  so  deeply  moved  for  a  moment  that  he  could 
not  speak.  That  his  father,  John  Moore,  the  man  who 
had  objected  to  his  son  fighting  with  the  British  because 
he  needed  him  in  the  factory,  should  have  accomplished 
all  this  unaided,  because  Uncle  Sam  needed  it;  done  it 
without  profit  to  himself  save  the  honest  profit  of  honest 
toil,  filled  him  with  pride.  Yet,  true  to  his  nature,  he 
only  said : 

"I  am  proud  to  be  your  son." 

Then  in  silence  which  was  far  more  eloquent  than 
words  they  also  joined  the  stream  of  workmen  going 
through  the  gates. 


297 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

As  the  days  passed  Peter's  strength  returned.  But  it 
was  not  until  the  night  before  he  left  that  his  mother  suc- 
ceeded in  partly  probing  his  trouble.  She  had  sensed 
something  beyond  his  uncongenial  marriage.  Something 
more  serious  if  possible.  Yet  she  had  said  nothing,  she 
simply  let  him  know  by  her  expressed  love  and  thought- 
fulness  that  it  was  all  right  whether  he  told  her  or  not. 
But  the  night  he  was  to  return  to  New  York  and  Bertha, 
he  and  his  mother  sat  up  long  after  the  rest  of  the  house- 
hold were  asleep,  having  one  of  their  old  talks. 

Mrs.  Moore  told  him  how  proud  she  was  of  him; 
of  his  advancement.  She  went  over  the  extending 
and  building  of  the  factory  step  by  step  with  him.  They 
talked  of  the  books  they  had  read,  and  those  they 
would  take  up  in  the  future.  Finally  a  silence  fell  be- 
tween them.  A  silence  tense  and  trenchant. 

"It  may  not  be  right,  mother,  in  that  it  may  make  you 
feel  harshly  toward  Bertha,  but  I  do  not  know  if  we  will 
be  man  and  wife  much  longer. ' ' 

That  was  all. 

Mrs.  Moore  turned  pale,  but  she  laid  her  hand  firmly 
over  his  as  she  said : 

"Whatever  you  think  best,  my  boy.  But  do  nothing 
in  a  hasty  manner.  You  know  where  to  go  for  guid- 
ance." 

298 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

"Yes,  mother.  And  mother  you — mustn't — think  it 
is  because  Bertha — hasn't  been  good — in  that  way — for 
I  believe — I  honestly  believe  she — has."  It  was  hard 
to  tell  his  mother  so  she  would  understand  to  what  he 
referred,  but  he  must.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  let  her 
think  that.  "She — has  not  been — untrue,"  he  stumbled 
along,  his  face  flushing.  "But  it  is  something  that  will 
part  us  just  the  same,  I  am  afraid." 

"Thank  God  it  isn't  that,"  his  mother  lowered  her 
voice  and  glanced  over  at  the  corner  of  the  room  where 
the  little  crib  was  placed. 

"It  may  come  out  all  right,  so  don't  worry,"  he 
said  as  he  kissed  his  mother  good  night.  But  there 
was  no  hope  in  his  voice,  none  in  his  heart;  and  in- 
sensibly he  killed  whatever  hope  there  had  been  in 
hers. 

The  next  day  when  it  was  time  to  go  to  the  train  Peter 
looked  in  amazement  at  his  increased  luggage. 

"What  in  the  world" — he  started  to  say,  then  at  a 
look  from  his  mother  desisted. 

"Mrs.  Hunter  and  I  have  been  sewing  for  Clarence 
ever  since  he  came.  Not  that  he  really  needed  anything, 
but  we  wanted  to  do  something  for  him;  and  we  also 
wanted  Bertha  to  know  we  loved  him.  I  guess  you  can 
manage." 

"I  guess  I  will!"  Peter's  response  was  so  hearty 
they  all  laughed.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hunter  were  having 
the  noonday  meal  with  them  so  that  they,  too,  could  be 
with  little  Clarence  as  long  as  possible. 

The  station  was  again  crowded.  Even  the  new  factory 
hands  were  there  to  see  the  young  captain,  the  boss's  son, 

299 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

start  back  toward  the  front  again.     For  that  it  was  a 
start  for  France  they  all  knew. 

It  was  rather  a  hilarious  parting.  And  to  make  it 
more  so,  old  Tom  Brooks  shouted  just  before  the  train 
moved  out  of  the  station : 

"Come  back  a  major  next  time,  won't  you,  Peter?" 

"I'll  do  my  best!"  Peter  replied,  joining  in  the  laugh 
that  followed  the  old  soldier's  sally. 

But  after  the  little  town  in  which  he  was  born 
was  left  behind  him,  Peter's  thoughts  reverted  to  what 
lay  before  him.  That  morning  he  and  his  mother  had 
visited  the  vine-clad  cottage  his  father  had  bought  for 
him  when  the  war  should  be  over ;  and  he  had  said  that 
he  and  Clarence  would  perhaps  some  day  live  there — 
nothing  more.  Now  as  the  train  bore  him  away  from  the 
cottage,  from  his  home,  he  felt  the  future  press  hard 
upon  him. 

' '  Thank  God  I  can  go  back ! "  he  said  to  himself. 

At  first  the  doctors  had  not  held  out  much  hope  that 
he  ever  would  recover  sufficiently  to  take  his  place  back 
in  the  fighting  line.  But  his  indomitable  will,  added  to 
years  of  clean  living,  made  him  once  more  whole  and  fit. 

It  was  a  wonderful  morning  in  early  May  when  Peter 
stepped  from  the  train  and  with  his  baby  once  more  took 
a  taxi  for  the  apartment  where  lived  his  wife,  the  mother 
of  the  boy  whom  he  passionately  loved  now. 

It  was  with  no  feeling  of  home-coming  that  he  rang 
the  bell,  or  that  he  greeted  Bertha.  But  her  delight  at 
seeing  the  baby ;  a  joy  that  not  even  his  presence  could 
make  her  hide;  her  tender  words  of  endearment  filled 
him  with  a  sort  of  grim  pity  for  her. 

300 


'  She  is  weak,  poor  girl — not  bad, ' '  Peter  said  to  himself. 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

' '  My  baby !  oh,  my  precious  baby ! ' '  she  said  over  and 
over,  hugging  him  to  her  breast,  tears  running  un- 
checked, down  her  cheeks. 

"She  is  weak — not  bad,"  Peter  said  to  himself  as  he 
left  her  alone  with  her  child.  "Poor  girl."  Then  for 
the  first  time  in  more  than  two  years  he  muttered  the  old 
excuse:  "She's  only  a  girl  anyway." 

For  the  third  time  Peter  waited  for  the  evening  with 
its  quiet  before  bringing  up  the  subject  of  which  both 
he  and  Bertha  had  been  thinking  every  moment  since  his 
return. 

"Well,  Bertha?"  she  had  no  need  to  ask  what  he 
meant. 

"Isn't  there  some  way,  Peter,  we  can  keep  part  of  the 
money  if  we  don 't  keep  it  all  ?  " 

* '  Not  one  penny. ' ' 

"What  shall  I — what  would  you  want  me  to  do  with 
it?  That  lawyer  said  it  was  mine,  and  that  if  I  didn't 
take  it  I  must  do  something  with  it. ' ' 

"He — Freeman,  would  like  it  to  be  given  to  the  avia- 
tion corps.  School  of  Aviation — perhaps." 

' '  Well,  1 11  see.    Maybe  I  will  keep  it  after  all. ' ' 

Bertha  watched  Peter  narrowly  as  she  spoke.  The 
look  of  disappointment,  of  sorrow,  on  his  face  did  not 
give  way  to  one  of  stern  disapproval  so  quickly  but  that 
she  had  seen  it.  She  some  way  was  comforted  by  that 
look. 

' '  That  is  for  you  to  say, ' '  he  returned. 

Long  after  Bertha  had  gone  to  her  room  Peter  sat 
musing  over  his  life  as  it  was  affected  by  her.  He  looked 

301 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

about  him  at  the  daintily  kept  little  apartment,  and 
thought  what  a  pleasant  home  she  would  make  for  a 
man  she  loved.  Perhaps  she  had  loved  Bates  Freeman 
that  way,  the  way  he  might  have  loved  Madeline  Dawson 
if  he  had  the  right.  It  made  him  very  tender  toward 
Bertha — that  thought  of  "the  English  Angel"  and  once 
more  he  whispered:  "She's  only  a  girl  even  now." 

He  did  not  lie  down  until  nearly  morning.  When  he 
arose,  Bertha  had  left  for  the  shop.  He  felt  annoyed, 
and  had  half  a  notion  to  go  and  bring  her  back.  This 
thing  must  be  decided.  He  was  needed  overseas. 

Ellen  told  him  that  Bertha  had  said  she  would  come 
home  to  lunch,  a  thing  she  seldom  did.  So  Peter  played 
with  the  baby,  read  the  morning  papers  and  waited 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  possible  for  the  luncheon' 
hour. 

It  came  and  passed.  At  2  o'clock  he  telephoned  the 
shop. 

No,  "Miss"  Moore  had  not  been  there  that  day.  How 
the  "Miss"  grated  on  his  nerves,  raw  and  bleeding  with 
the  long  wait. 

"Are  you  sure?" 

' '  Of  course,  I  am  sure !  Who 's  calling  her  ? ' '  the  care- 
less voice  of  Julia  Lawrence  asked.  "I'll  give  her  any 
message  you  like.  I  am  her  chum. ' '  The  tone  in  which 
she  informed  Peter  he  could  trust  her  made  him  shiver. 
It  presupposed  something  secret,  some  understanding 
between  them. 

He  waited  another  hour,  then  he  called  again.  This 
time  another  voice  answered,  that  of  the  proprietress. 

"No,  Miss  Moore  has  not  returned  from  her  vacation." 

302 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

Then  in  reply  to  a  question, ' '  No,  we  have  not  heard  from 
her." 

Now  Peter  became  anxious.  Where  could  Bertha  have 
gone?  He  questioned  Ellen,  but  could  elicit  nothing 
more  than  she  had  already  told  him.  That  she  would  be 
home  to  luncheon  was  all  Bertha  had  said  when  she  left. 

Peter  started  for  the  street.  He  did  not  know  exactly 
what  he  intended  doing,  but  he  could  stand  his  inactivity 
no  longer.  Just  as  he  reached  the  sidewalk  Ellen  called 
him  back.  Some  one  wanted  him  on  the  telephone. 

"Yes,  this  is  Captain  Moore,"  he  answered  the  ques- 
tion put  him. 

"This  is  the  Roosevelt  Hospital.  "We  have  a  young 
woman  here  who  says  she  is  your  wife.  She  is  badly  in- 
jured— knocked  down  by  an  automobile." 

"I'll  come  at  once."  Hurriedly  Peter  rushed  to  the 
hospital.  The  nurse  looked  pityingly  at  the  young  offi- 
cer as  she  led  the  way  to  the  cot  on  which  they  had  laid 
Bertha. 

"I  knew  you. would  come,  Peter,"  her  face  lighted 
with  joy  in  spite  of  the  pain.  "I  knew  you  would.  I 
did  it,  Peter,  just  what  you  wanted  me  to.  I  made  it  all 
over  to  the  aviation  people.  That  lawyer — he  thought 
I  was  crazy — I  guess — but  I  made  him — do  it.  It's  all 
fixed  so  no  one — need  know — I  almost  disgraced  you  and 
the  baby.  I  did  it  for  him — my  baby.  Take  good  care 
— of  him — Peter.  Let  your  mother — take — him — mine 
is — too  easy — she  would  spoil — him,  like  she  did  me." 
The  whisper  grew  fainter  and  Peter  leaned  over  the  bed 
that  he  might  hear,  his  tears  dropping  on  the  pretty 
weak  face  on  which  the  gray  pallor  of  death  already 

303 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

appeared.  "Forgive "  she  whispered,  "forgive  me, 

Peter — the  baby — be  good." 

As  Peter  breathed  his  full  forgiveness  and  pressed  a 
kiss  on  the  pale  brow,  Bertha  Moore  passed  out  in  the 
great  unknown  where  perhaps  being ' '  only  a  girl ' '  would 
palliate  her  faults  which  had  so  nearly  been  sins. 

All  the  girlish  beauty  that  had  been  hers  when  Peter 
married  her  seemed  to  come  back  to  her  as  she  lay  dead. 
The  hardness  which  at  times  had  spoiled  her  pretty  face 
disappeared;  even  the  weakness  was  not  noticeable. 

"She  died  happy,"  the  nurse  said  to  Peter,  wanting 
to  comfort  the  young  officer.  "See,  the  smile  is  yet  on 
her  face." 

Peter  took  Bertha  back  to  Haynesville  and  buried  her 
in  the  little  churchyard  where  together  they  had  often 
wandered  when  children  picking  the  daisies,  which  grew 
in  profusion.  He  arranged  for  a  simple  headstone  to 
mark  the  spot  where  the  mother  of  his  boy  lay,  the  in- 
scription, "She  was  only  a  girl,"  meaning  little  to  any 
one  but  himself. 

As  he  gave  his  boy  into  his  mother's  keeping  he  was 
glad  he  had  not  told  even  her  of  Bertha's  wrongdoing. 
Bates  Freeman  had  "gone  west,"  now  Bertha  had  also 
gone.  Perhaps  they  would  meet  and  love  each  other 
again — who  could  tell? 

The  day  after  Bertha  was  laid  to  rest  Peter  once  again 
left  Haynesville.  This  time  there  was  no  flare  of  trum- 
pets, no  joyous  calling  after  the  young  captain.  Yet 
most  of  the  townspeople  were  there  to  see  him  off  just 
the  same ;  only  now  it  was  a  quiet  handclasp  and  a  wish 

304 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

for  his  happiness  instead  of  the  boisterous  leave-taking 
of  the  week  before. 

As  Peter  paced  the  deck  of  the  vessel  that  bore  him 
nearer  and  nearer  some  "French  port,"  he  grew  more 
tender  in  his  thoughts  of  the  girl  who  slept  so  quietly 
in  the  little  churchyard.  The  refinement  of  death  was 
over  her  faults.  And  she  had  given  him  his  beautiful 
boy.  For  that  he  would  always  be  her  debtor. 

It  was  still  May  when  Peter  once  more  stood  side  by 
side  with  his  men  who  had  so  gladly  welcomed  him  back. 
There  had  been  many  engagements  on  both  sides,  skir- 
mishes in  which  first  one  side  and  then  the  other  had 
gained  a  slight  advantage.  But  the  Americans  were  com- 
ing fast.  The  Allies  were  not  only  encouraged,  but  they 
were  inspired  by  the  sight  of  the  fresh  troops  now  so 
generously  sent  to  their  aid.  The  enthusiasm  of  the  boys 
from  the  States  was  contagious,  and  the  strains  of  ' '  The 
Star  Spangled  Banner"  joined  to  those  of  the  "Mar- 
seillaise ' '  and  ' '  God  Save  the  King, ' '  were  greeted  with 
cheers  and  applause  wherever  heard. 

It  was  a  new-born,  a  revivified  France  to  which  Peter 
returned.  No  longer  was  that  grim  look  of  "win 
at  all  costs"  so  noticeable  on  the  faces  of  the  soldiers 
one  met.  The  Yanks  were  coming  so  fast  that  there  was 
now  a  look  of  assurance,  a  feeling  that  now  the  United 
States  was  awakened  to  the  vital  need  of  the  Allies  at 
last — the  need  of  men,  fresh  men  to  pit  against  the 
hordes  of  the  Huns,  who  seemed  to  spring  up  like  grass 
where  the  others  fell — and  so  give  the  worn-out  troops 
rest  and  courage. 

Then  came  the  great  drive  of  July.  Peter,  like  the 

305 


THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

rest  of  the  officers,  had  seen  it  coming,  had  known  al- 
most to  the  day  it  would  be  sprung  upon  the  Germans, 
who  bragged  that  they  were  invincible. 

Peter  had  seen  Madeline  Dawson  several  times  since 
his  return  to  France.  Beyond  telling  her  that  Bertha 
had  died,  he  said  nothing  of  an  intimate  nature  to  her. 
But  as  the  surety  that  he  would  go  into  a  great  battle 
came  to  him,  and  as  he  remembered  that  she  had  told 
him  it  "made  things  easier"  to  know  he  loved  her,  he 
determined  to  see  her  once  more. 

He  waited  until  the  time  she  usually  left  the  shack 
to  go  to  her  room  to  rest.  Then,  standing  in  the  door 
of  the  house  where  up  under  the  roof  in  a  tiny  room 
Madeline  each  night  prayed  for  his  safety  and  his  hap- 
piness, he  told  her  of  his  belief  that  they  were  on  the 
eve  of  a  great  battle,  that  before  he  went  into  it  he 
wanted  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her  as  he  never  had 
loved  any  one  before. 

"It  is  too  soon  to  say  more,  dearest.  But  if  I  am 

spared "  He  looked  into  her  eyes  shining  like  twin 

stars,  then  drew  her  into  his  arms  and  kissed  her  lips. 

"If  I  am  spared,"  he  went  on  after  one  delicious  mo- 
ment, "there  is  a  little  vine-covered  cottage — a  cottage 
father  bought  for  me  when  I  first  turned  to  soldiering, 
a  cottage  that  will  need  a  mistress."  Then,  after  she 
had  told  him  in  loving  words  of  what  happiness  it  would 
be  to  her,  he  spoke  of  the  great  factories  which  his  father 
had  built  and  which  would  be  his  if  he  lived ;  of  the  boy 
whom  he  loved  so  dearly.  And  in  all  that  concerned  him 
she  was  so  sweetly,  so  wonderfully  interested,  that  again 
and  again  he  called  her  "My  English  Angel"  and  told 

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THE  EVOLUTION  OF  PETER  MOORE 

her  that  he  did  not  deserve  so  much,  that  he  was  not 
worthy.  Also  many  other  things  that  people  tell  each 
other  when  they  are  in  love. 

****** 

It  was  the  first  of  August.  For  two  long,  horrible 
weeks  of  blood  and  carnage  Peter  was,  as  always,  in 
the  thickest  of  the  fight.  Again  his  comrades  told  of 
his  "charmed  life."  And,  as  before,  willingly  followed 
where  he  led.  Then  there  came  a  lull.  He  was  free  to 
go  to  Madeline,  if  only  for  a  day.  But  he  went  not 
as  Captain,  but  as  Major  Moore.  And  the  cable  sent 
to  a  little  town  in  the  Middle  West  told  an  anxious 
waiting  mother  that  Major  Moore  and  Madeline  Daw- 
son,  the  nurse  who  was  called  ' '  the  English  Angel, ' '  were 
married  by  the  regimental  chaplain. 

The  Haynesville  Times,  in  commenting  upon  the  news, 
added : 

"We  understand  that  Major  Moore  and  his  beautiful 
bride  will,  upon  the  conclusion  of  the  war,  return  to 
Haynesville  and  live  in  the  Rose  Cottage,  also,  to  relieve 
his  father,  the  major  will  take  over  the  mills." 


THE   END 


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A    000  036  009     9 


